When Angels Close Their Eyes
by bambers2
Summary: After a year of false hopes and dead ends, Dean faces the reality of his life ending deal for his brother. But things may not be all as they seem when a new deal is struck sending the brothers down a much different path.
1. Chapter 1

_So...this is the first story in a Virtual Season 4 that I am writing. This story is already complete and if it is well received, i will probably post a new chappy everyday!! thanks so much for reading!! if you enjoyed, please let me know!! bambers;)_

_When Angels Close Their Eyes_

_At the end of all things we sit and wait_

_life and time does not matter here_

_as in the end, all that is or ever was will abate_

_A single beating heart will not matter_

_nor all the lives that lay in shatters_

_for at the end of all things_

_angels open their eyes_

The sky, black as pitch and just as turbulent, perfectly matched Dean Winchester's current mood. Lightning punctuated the darkness, thunder keeping constant time with it. The Impala's windshield wipers slapped back and forth, driving the sheets of rain off the window, but still more came Endlessly it seemed, for days on end it rained, with no sign of reprieve.

To Dean it seemed as if the angels were weeping for him, knowing that his time had come. In a few short fleeting moments his life would be at an end, and no amount of tears shed from unseen beings would stop that from happening.

Veering off to the side of the road, Dean killed the engine for the very last time, and left the keys in the ignition, knowing Sam would come looking for him. Dean knew it was unfair to leave his brother tied up back the motel room, also knew it was wrong to inject a sedative into Sam's arm after trying him up, but he needed to be sure Sam didn't follow. He could do this only if his brother didn't have to bare witness to it.

Slowly he stepped from his car, shut the door behind him, and trudged to the crossroads to wait. Surprisingly, he did not hear the vicious growls of hell hounds, although he was almost positive that the demonic beasts would tear him apart limb by limb, before the gates of hell burst wide open to wrap him in their heated embrace. As he craned his neck to search into the darkness for any signs of the crossroads demon, a sudden realization struck Dean. There was really no noise. At least nothing that would usher in his impending death. No wind rustled through the trees. No demonic laughter, which was really odd as he was certain there would be some sort of merciless chuckling as he was ripped apart. The only sounds he heard was the steady rhythm of rain pelting against the ground.

The lack of noise is what really began to rub Dean's nerves raw. It would've been much easier just to get it over with, to feel his skin being ripped from his body as the hounds sunk their teeth into his flesh. But, he knew it wouldn't be that easy. The demon was toying with him, trying to break him before she called in her pets to finish him off. And as he stood there, shivering in the frigid rain, Dean vowed to himself that he would stand strong. He'd won. Sam was alive and that was all that mattered. He had won, and nothing the demon could do to him would change that.

From the shadows and the darkness, a tall figure approached. Confident in its stature, the demon strode toward Dean at a leisurely pace, a slight swagger in his gait. As the demon drew closer, Dean was somewhat surprised and more than a little confused that it wasn't the demon he'd struck the bargain with. Tilting his head to the side to look beyond the male, Dean saw no other demon was forthcoming. His brow raised in puzzlement as the demon with shoulder-length black hair came to a halt within a few feet of him and grinned.

"I take it, you're Dean Winchester," he asked as he looked Dean over as if appraising Dean's worth, "sold your soul to save your brother. Son to a father who sold his soul to save you."

"Yeah, sellin' our souls kinda runs in our family." Dean's cocky smirk faded as the man's penetrating blue-eyed gaze met and held his.

"Was it worth it, Dean?" The demon crossed his arms, the dark material of his shirt pulling taut over his muscular biceps. "Your soul for your brother's life, was it worth it?" he asked in a condemning manner.

"Do you mean, would I do it again?" Dean saw the dark-haired demon nod at his question. "Hell, yeah, it was worth it," he forcefully declared with more bravado than he actually felt.

"You do realize that you have now left your brother alone and unprotected? That it's what all the demons in Hell have been waiting for since the day you struck the bargain?" The demon hesitated for a moment as if waiting for Dean to respond, and then added, "Some might say you left your brother to the wolves."

Not liking how that one true statement caused his stomach to coil in thick knots, Dean squared his jaw and glared at the demon. "Sam knows how to take of himself." He glanced around again looking for the demon he'd made the deal with, not wanting to listen to the demon who stood before him any longer. "An' where the hell is the crossroads demon, I'm not about to deal with her freakin' lackey."

The demon chuckled hearing this. "She won't be coming any time soon, Dean. You see, I bought your contract."

"Bought?" Dean asked, now more confused than ever.

"Well, that's not exactly true." A self-satisfied smirk settled on the demon's finely chiseled features. "Told her that she was to give me your soul, and as you can see, I always get my way."

"An' who exactly are you?" Dean glared at the man, not liking the sounds of a demon who could demand a soul and get it without giving anything in the bargain.

"Do names really matter, Dean? I mean, you went your whole life calling the demon that killed your mother, the Yellow-Eyed Demon." The demon paused to draw in a breath, and slowly released it, and Dean could tell he enjoyed taunting him just by the look in his blue eyes. "Didn't really care much what his name was, all you knew is that you wanted him dead . . . so why should my name be any different?"

"So what are you, some sort of upper-level demon, being able to demand a soul belonging to another?"

The demon was quiet for a moment as he apparently contemplated what Dean had just said to him, and then heaved an aggravated sigh. "You want the truth, Dean?"

"Wouldn't of asked if I didn't."

After a few moments, the demon gave a curt nod of his head, and replied, "As for Hell, there is no one higher than me. Your Yellow-Eyed Demon would be considered no more than a foot soldier in the army I lead. Not even worthy of my attention had it not been for you and your brother."

_Okay, so definitely not good. If the demon who managed to open Hell's gates is considered insignificant to him, I'm so totally freakin' screwed. _"An' what do you want with me?"

"You are going to do something for me. Something no one else can do." The demon turned on its heel, and began to walk away, gesturing for Dean to follow, but when Dean made no effort to move, it swung back to stare into Dean's eyes. "Think I made it very clear that you were to follow, and you will obey me on this."

With legs spread slightly apart, arms fold defiantly across his chest, Dean tilted his head to glare at the man who was at least a few inches taller than Sam. Stubbornly, he held his ground, not about to do anything the demon wanted him to do until he knew what it was, and even then he was certain he would still refuse. "Not going anywhere with you until you tell me what you want with me."

The demon was silent for the longest time as he met and held Dean's steady gaze. A slight smirk settled on his features as he laughed. "Six months, Dean. I want six months of your life, no more no less."

"What the hell for?"

"Told you there is something I need you to do for me," the demon stated simply as if that was answer enough.

"An' what if choose not to do it?"

"Well, then that would be most unfortunate for you." The demon once again pivoted and strode off down the dirt road, not waiting to see if Dean followed. He'd only gone a few feet when he hesitated, and called back over his shoulder, "Come, Dean, you have work to do."

Curious as to what the demon wanted, and more than a little confused as to why he wasn't already on his one way journey to Hell, Dean reluctantly strode to join the demon. "What do you want me to do?"

"As I already stated, I want six months of your life," the demon cast a sidelong glance in Dean's direction as he picked up his pace, "give it freely and without reservation, and when that time is done, you are free to go back to your life," here he paused to let the full impact of his words to sink in, and then added, "back to your brother."

"Six months?" Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing. If the demon was being truthful, which he highly doubted, he could be back with his brother. It sounded too good to be true. "An' my soul?"

"Yours. As I said, I want no more from you than what I have stated."

There had to be something Dean was missing, demon's just give back souls as it was there business to take them in the first place, and this demon certainly could be no different. "What, you so high up on the food chain you don't have need for souls?"

The demon chuckled. "No, I don't need souls, Dean. That is what my brethren desire. I like to think that I have a higher purpose to serve."

Dean tried to decipher what the demon meant by his cryptic words, but found he was at a complete loss. Although, he found he could not refuse what it had asked of him. After all, six months was not a lot of time at all, and then he would have his soul back.

"Can I see my brother . . . tell him I'm gonna be okay?"

Shaking its head, the demon replied, "No, you can not make any contact with your brother. To Sam, you must remain dead until you have completed what I have asked of you to do." The demon halted in his steps, and turned to look Dean squarely in the eyes. "On this, there is no room for stipulation. You try to make contact with your brother in any way, talk to him, write to him, try to see him at all in the six months, and you'll go straight to Hell. Your soul forfeited. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Dean nodded, not liking the idea of allowing his brother to think he was dead, but what other choice did he have. "Perfectly."

"Good. And you agree to the terms?"

"Well, I'm not gonna kiss ya, if that's what your askin', but yeah, I agree."

The demon extended his hand, and Dean gripped hold and shook it, sealing the bargain. Giving a curt nod, the demon once again picked up his pace. "Very well, your six months starts now. We have a long way to go, so let's get moving."

Dean glanced back in the direction of his car, and then called out to the demon who was swiftly moving away from him. "Why not just take my car?" he asked, hoping that if Sam couldn't find the car, he would somehow figure that Dean wasn't gone. And even if Dean could make no contact with him, Sam would still know that he was all right, and that would have to be enough for the time being.

"We walk, Dean. Your car stays where it is."


	2. Chapter 2

_so as promised, i am posting the second chapter of the story today!! hope everyone is enjoying and thanks for all the awesome reviews!! i truly just live for them!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Two_

In the frigid early morning rain, Dean and the demon traveled the lonely stretch of road. Neither of them spoke, which Dean was thankful for as his mind was solely on his brother. How could he possibly go six months allowing Sam to think he'd died? How could he do that to the person he cared most about in all the world, and how would he even begin to explain that to Sam when the time was over? His brother would never forgive him for making yet another deal. A deal that would be like a living Hell for both of them. How could he, when Dean already couldn't forgive himself?

His only consolation was that he could still watch over Sam, even if his brother could not know he was there. The demon had made no stipulations about that, and Dean would be damned if he'd allow his brother to go it alone while he was still around to protect him.

"Be very careful, Dean," the demon uttered as if in response to Dean's unspoken thoughts, "I know what you are planning to do."

"Never said I couldn't watch over him, just that I couldn't make contact."

"True," he pursed his lips as he motioned toward a house up in the distance. "just be aware that if he sees you, it'll just make it all the harder on both of you."

"If I don't want to be seen, then he won't see me."

As they drew nearer to the house that the demon had gestured to, it stopped, and turned to look at Dean. "This will be the first stop on your journey," he stated simply as Dean stared at the rundown two-story manor house.

It appeared as if it hadn't been lived in for many years. The windows were all broken out, some covered with sheets of graying wood. The front door hung open on its hinges, banging back and forth in the stiff breeze. In places the white-washed shingles had torn loose, exposing the wood beneath that was rotting away with time. Flattened by the deluge of rain, Dean could tell that the long grass would have been over a foot tall if it were standing on end.

"What's here?" Dean turned his attention away from the house to look at the demon, wanting to know exactly what he'd gotten himself into.

"A child . . . a very special child."

Whatever Dean thought to expect, that was definitely not it. "A demon child?"

The demon laughed. "No, not a demon child."

Cocking a quizzical brow, Dean asked, "What other kind of kid would demons be interested in then?"

After a long pause, the demon finally heaved a sigh, and turned to look at the house once more, a determined gleam in his blue eyes. "It's a child of hope. Sent to this world to give back purpose to the people."

Dean looked briefly to the house once more, and then swung to glare at the demon, horrible understanding dawning on him. Shaking his head emphatically, he nearly hissed, "I'm not gonna kill any little kid. Forget it, deals off. Send me to Hell cause I ain't doin' it."

Once again, the demon laughed, his eyes sparkling in the early morning light. "Don't want you to kill him, Dean, I want you to protect him."

Taken aback by the demon's unusual request, Dean couldn't help the look of utter surprise on his face. "You want me to . . . what, wait, I don't understand?"

"You're to watch over him. Protect his life with your own if need be for the next six months."

Why the hell would a demon want to protect a child who he'd clearly thought would bring the promise of hope to the world? Dean felt as if he'd just caught the last five minutes of a movie and was now left to figure out all that had come before it.

"Think I missed something along the way. Must've been out buyin' popcorn when the big plot explanation was happening. Why would a demon want to protect a child of hope?"

"Never said I was a demon, Dean. You just assumed it."

Now Dean was totally lost. If not a demon what other kind of creature could demand a soul and have it given to him without so much as a token in return. "Then what are you?"

A smile settled on the creature's face, eyes alighting with a brilliant blue fire. "The name's Michael."

"Michael?" Understanding suddenly dawned on him as Michael raised his sights toward the heavens above. "Michael as in Archangel Michael. Kick demon's asses, take no prisoners, Michael?"

"The child's life is to be your only concern while he is your care," Michael replied without confirming or denying Dean's question. "And it is your duty to make sure he reaches his next Guardian at the end of that time, unharmed in any way."

"Guardian?"

"Guardians. Those who were chosen before they were even conceived to watch over the child until his work here was finished. So you see, no demon could hold claim over you as your life was not your own since the very onset."

"What about all that free will crap?" Dean narrowed his eyes on the angel, a strange sense of purpose filling him. "Didn't I have any say in the matter?"

"Thy will be done, not Dean's will be done," Michael replied confidently, "God's will supercedes that of demons. And you were chosen for a purpose."

"And what purpose would that be?"

"You've spent your whole life being a protector of the weak and innocent, and yet you still have to ask?" Michael stated, a subtle look of confusion gracing his face.

"But I sold my soul."

"Think God can't take back what is rightfully his? Think demons hold all the power? If so then we have more work to do than I'd first thought."

"You'll have to forgive me for not taking much stock in God. He wasn't around when my mother died or my father. Silently stood by when Sam died, and left me no choice but to make a deal. So I'm sorry if I seem a little short on faith, but I think I've earned that right."

Michael nodded in understanding, although his face remained impassive. "But you're forgetting that He saved you now. Saved you from an eternity burning in the fires of Hell. Saved you so you could return to your brother. Maybe things aren't always the way you'd like them to be, but many have fallen before you, and you will not be the last warrior to suffer in this ongoing war, so you should learn to count your blessings and be thankful for the life that you do have."

"Thankful?" Dean grimaced at what Michael considered his life. "What life did I ever have?"

"Oh, I don't know, Dean. A life of saving people who couldn't protect themselves. A life of doing what was right, no matter the cost. A life where the people you were closest to, loved you unconditionally. Some would venture to say that was a pretty damn good life."

"Well, some never moved from town to town on the run from the FBI. Nor have some watched the life leave their brother's eyes as a man stabbed him in the back either. And I'll even venture to guess that most people haven't been beaten to a pulp on a regular basis by creatures they can't even begin to fathom. So freakin' good life . . . not so much."

"Wasn't sent here to debated the unfairness of your life with you," Michael once again took up his steps, heading toward the rundown house, "life isn't fair, learn it, deal with it."

Dean stared after him for a moment, not liking how the angel so easily dismissed his words. "You don't like me very much do you?" he asked as he caught up with Michael.

"I care for all God's creatures, even those who don't often deserve it."

Grabbing a hold of Michael's arm, Dean swung the angel to face him. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Michael looked long and hard into his eyes, before finally replying, "Does it really matter what I think of you?"

"Well, I'm thinkin' that having a badass Archangel pissed at you far outranks most demons wanting to kill ya, so yeah, it does matter."

"True," Michael conceded, "let's just say that I question why God would put so much faith in you when you put so little in Him." He drew in a deep breath, and continued, "He would entrust one of his most precious children into your care, and all you can do is bemoan the fact that your life isn't fair. I think that makes you unfit for the job, and not all that far above being a demon yourself."

At that moment, Dean couldn't have felt any worse than if the angel just slammed both his powerful fists into his gut. "I can protect this child. You'll see, I'll prove to you that there was no better choice than me."

"I'm not the one you have to prove anything to, Dean. I'm just a messenger, nothing more." Michael shrugged free of Dean's grasp and head up the narrow path, nearly covered in overgrown weeds, to the house. "You coming?" Michael called back over his shoulder. "Joshua is waiting for you."

Reluctantly, Dean followed, now unsure of himself in the face of an angel who apparently found him sorely lacking as a human being. "Yeah, I'm comin'."

Once inside, Michael led Dean to a room off to the right of the kitchen. The room was small but warm, a fire blazing in the fireplace keeping at bay the drafts that rushed in through the cracks in the broken windows. Thick coatings of dust covered nearly every inch of the hardwood flooring, and also the scattered pieces of furniture that had been left behind by the previous owners.

In front of the roaring fire, with his back to Dean, sat a little boy in a rocking chair with a man who didn't look to be much older than Dean standing guard beside him. Dean couldn't help but notice that the man took a few steps closer to his young charge to place himself between Dean and the boy. Obviously he took the job of watching over the child very seriously, and wasn't about to let anyone come close to the little boy until he was finished with his duty.

"Jonathan," Michael called to him from where he stood at the door, "this is Dean, he will be taking your place. Your time is now finished."

"Are you sure he's the right man," Jonathan asked, eyeing Dean suspiciously, "doesn't seem much like a Guardian to me. I can stay with Joshua longer until you find a more suitable replacement."

"I can do the freakin' job," Dean nearly growled, not liking that this stranger was now passing judgement as well. "I can be the best damn Guardian this boy has ever had."

"Forgive me, Dean, if I find that a little hard to believe," Jonathan said as he looked Dean up and down, "takes a special kind of person to do this job, and just by the looks of you, I can tell you're definitely not it."

Crossing his arms defiantly, Dean glared at the blond-haired man. "Doesn't really matter what you think, Jon, cause as Michael said, your time is done here." Dean hitched a thumb back over his shoulder, and further added, "So why don't you get the hell out here, so a real Guardian can take over."

Jonathan looked from Michael to Dean and then back again, green eyes imploring Michael to reconsider. "Michael?"

"Six months, Jonathan, no more no less, it is time for you to leave."

Apparently realizing that Michael would not relent on the matter, Jonathan gave a curt nod, turned and knelt beside the boy. "I have to go, Joshua. Dean is gonna take real good care of you."

"Why, Jon," the little boy looked up at him imploringly, tears shimmering in his bright blue eyes. "Don't ya like me anymore?"

"No, little one," Jonathan's tone soften, "don't ever think it. It's just time for me to move on."

Joshua glanced in Dean's direction, brows nearly disappearing beneath his shaggy dark brown bangs as he studied him. A slight frown settled on Joshua's features as he tugged on Jonathan's shirt sleeve. Leaning in, he whispered rather loudly, "Looks kinda mean, sure he's gonna like me?"

"Jonathan," Michael cleared his throat to gain the man's attention. "You must leave now."

"Just a sec, I'm just saying goodbye."

"No, Jonathan, you will leave now. Two Guardians in the same place at the same time is way too risky, and I will not allow you to put Joshua's life in danger just to say goodbye."

In a moment of defiance, Jonathan glared at the archangel, and grabbed hold of the little boy, hugging him tightly to his chest. As he drew back, Dean noticed the tears glistening in the man's eyes as he kissed Joshua on the cheek. "You listen to Dean, you hear me, Joshua." Yanking a Yankee's baseball cap out of his jacket pocket, he loving placed it on Joshua's head, and pulled he brim down low over the little boy's forehead. "An' bug the hell outta him until he takes you to a game. You'll love the Yankee's, best damn team in the league."

Jonathan rose to stand, turned to face Dean, and Dean caught sight of an amulet hanging around the man's neck that was exactly the same as his own. Dean recalled his father giving him the amulet when he around ten years old and had told him at the time that his mother had saved it for him. Now with Jonathan wearing the same charm, Dean was forced to wonder if his mother had known all along about Joshua, and that idea didn't sit very well with him. And if she had known, Dean could only surmise that his father must have figured it out somewhere along the line, and had kept it a secret from him as well. Just another secret in a long line of secrets, and Dean was damn sick and tired of all the lies, and yet now he was forced to commit the biggest lie of them all — making Sam believe he was dead.

"You take care of him, you hear me?"

"I'll protect him as if he were my own brother," Dean solemnly vowed.

"You'd better or I'll hunt your ass down myself." Jonathan turned on his heel, and headed for the door. At the entrance of the room, he bent and grabbed his duffel then waited for Michael.

Without so much as saying a goodbye, both strode to the front of the house. Dean took one look at the little boy with tears streaming down his chubby little cheeks, body trembling as he wept uncontrollably, and rushed after Michael, not having the first clue what the hell he was supposed to do with the crying child.

"You can't just leave me here with him," Dean called out to Michael, "I don't even know how to make him stop crying."

With his hand on the door handle, Michael swung to look at Dean. "You'll figure it out, Dean."

"Thanks, that's a whole helluva lot of help." Dean looked to Jonathan, hoping the man would be of better assistance, but Jonathan lowered his head, and headed out the door. "What are we supposed to do?" He splayed his hands out to the sides and gestured around at the rundown house. "We can't stay here."

"No, you can't. Demons will find you here," Michael cautioned. "Especially since Jonathan and you were both here together for an extended period of time."

Eyes narrowing, Dean stared at the angel, not understanding what he'd meant. "Don't understand what you mean by that?"

"Two Guardians in the same place at the same time, you might as well place a big red bow around this old house, and invite a whole horde of demons in for tea and cookies."

"Then where the hell am I supposed to take him that's safe?"

"You're a smart guy, Dean, you'll figure it out," Michael hesitated for a moment, and then held out his hand. "Your fake credit cards."

"What?" Dean said incredulously, totally dumbfounded that the angel would leave him to take care of a small child with very little money and no credit cards to his name.

"Said give me your credit cards. I won't have you corrupting Joshua while he is in your care."

"Would you rather he starve to death while in my care," Dean cocked a sardonic brow, "cause the way I see it, that's the only real money I have."

Michael extended his hand a little further. "You'll figure out something, I have faith in you."

Dean stared at him for a few moments longer, and then yanked his wallet out of his back pocket. Ripping it open, he snatched out all the credit cards he owned, and grudging handed them over to the angel. "Here, take them all, but next time you see Joshua, and he weighs like five pounds, and is all skin an' bones, don't say I didn't warn you that I couldn't do this."

"You'll do just fine, Dean." Michael said as he disappeared out the door to meet up with Jonathan.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

_So, the bad ass demon was an archangel...lol, betcha not many people expected that!! lol...for those who are lookin for demons i can promise you that this series will have tons of them including at least one really big Bad assed demon!! Not to mention vampires and other baddies!! thanks again for reading!! bambers;)_


	3. Chapter 3

_So next chappy!! hope everyone is enjying so far!! thanks for all the awesoe reviews and for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Three_

Sam knew he was too late even before he saw the Impala parked off to the side of the road a few yards away from the crossroads. Knew that his brother was gone, knew that there was nothing he could've done to prevent it from happening. He'd exhausted every resource possible in his quest to save his brother, and had failed miserably. Dean had given everything to save him, and Sam had failed him.

As Sam stepped out from the dark greed sedan he'd stolen, he felt the lose of his brother as it washed over him, leaving him feeling weak and useless. His body ached and trembled with overwhelming sadness as he looked around aimlessly for any sign that his brother hadn't left him behind. Hadn't died.

Nothing. No signs of blood. No torn clothing. Not even so much as a single whisper of wind to give him hope that Dean had somehow managed to thwart the demon's deal. He was just gone. And what Dean did not understand, and now never would was that Sam needed him every bit as much, if not a little bit more than Dean needed him.

To Dean, making the deal meant Sam lived, and Sam understood that. But what Dean failed to understand was that he'd condemned Sam to a living Hell in which there was no means of escape. To be given a second chance at life at the expense of losing the person he cared about most was not really a life worth living.

Unshed tears glistened in his eyes, but he couldn't find it in himself to cry. And it was odd, as his heart ached with such intense pain that he needed the release of the tears flowing freely, but still they would not come. His pain, so bottomless in its desolate despair, turned inward on itself, tearing at his soul ravaging it utterly and completely.

And he was lost and alone. So lost that all he felt or saw was his own insurmountable grief and knew he would never find a way beyond it. So alone that the world could have ended right then and there and he wouldn't have even noticed much less cared if it had. These were things that Dean hadn't even begun to think of when he'd made the deal. Thought everything would be okay if Sam lived and he died instead. And yet, Sam couldn't fault him for doing what he did, as he would have done exactly the same thing if the situation had been reversed. And he hoped Dean knew that. He'd also hoped his brother would understand what he felt he needed to do now that he'd been given no other choice.

Slowly he made his way over to the crossroads, dropped to his knees and began digging in the soggy mud until he'd dug a deep enough hole. Yanking a small box out of his pocket, he grabbed for his wallet and took out one of his fake licences and threw it in the box. Sam threw the box into the hole and covered it over with mud.

He closed his eyes and waited, knowing she would come. In only a matter of moments he sensed her presence before he'd actually opened his eyes and saw her standing a few feet away from him.

"Sam Winchester, can't say that I'm surprised to see you." A wicked smile graced her features as she brushed her fingers through her dark brown windblown hair. "Tell me, are all human so eager to sell their souls or is it just a Winchester family trait?" she chuckled, black eyes glistening in the early morning light.

Sam rose to stand, crossing his arms, a determined set to his jaw as he glared at her. "I want you to bring my brother back. Don't care what the cost, just bring him back now."

"Ah, Sammy," she grinned as she shook her head, "What do you think Hell is, some sort of Winchester family vacation timeshare program?"

"I'll give you whatever you want . . . anything, just give me back my brother."

She turned he back on him, and for a moment he thought she might actually leave but then she swung back to face him. "And what could you possibly have that I might want?"

"My soul?"

"Your soul?" she had the nerve to laugh, "I don't think so. Learned there are just some souls even a demon such as myself shouldn't be tempted to try an' steal. An' your's is definitely one of them."

"There has to be something you want. Something I can give you in exchange for my brother's life?"

The demon bit at her lower lip as if contemplating his question, and then shook her head. "See, here's the thing, Sammy. I really enjoyed watching the hell hounds tearing your brother apart limb by limb as he begged for mercy. Begged for it. Your name on his dying lips." She smirked, tilting her head slightly to look him directly in the eyes. "An' the way I figure it is, if he's in Hell, then your already there as well. Sort of like two suffering the same fate for the price of one, only you get to live with all that delicious guilt knowing he gave up his soul for you. Kinda really sucks to be you right about now, doesn't it?"

Before the demon could think to react, Sam pulled the colt from his waistband and aimed it directly at her chest with his finger on the trigger. "I want my brother or you die," he hissed, eyes narrowing menacingly.

She briefly eyed the gun in his hand, and then returned her steady gaze to him. "There is one thing I want. If you can give it to me, I swear I'll give you your brother back to you unharmed in anyway."

Sam's finger eased up on the trigger hearing this. "What is it?"

"A child, a very special child."

"A child?" Sam's brows knit together in confusion, "I'm not . . . I mean, we're not . . . I'm not spawning any demon children with you."

The demon threw back her head and laughed heartily. "Don't get you panties all in a bunch, Sammy, you're definitely not my type."

"Then what are you talking about?"

"There is a child . . . protected by men who serve as his Guardians. My kind want that child, and we'd be very grateful to the person who brought him to us."

"And I get this child for you and Dean goes free?"

"Free and clear," she stated simply. "It's a good deal, Sam. Dean gets to live, and you both get to keep your worthless souls."

"And you kill an innocent kid?"

"All wars have causalities."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. She actually believed he would consider allowing her to kill a little child so he could have Dean back. If it was his own life he was bartering with, he would've agreed to it in a heartbeat, but no matter how much he wished for his brother to be alive, he couldn't ask for his life back at the expense of a child.

"How about it, Sam? Time is ticking away. Your brother is rotting away as we speak." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Not to mention that all the demons in Hell are really gunning for him . . . just think how much he's suffering and it should make your choice very easy."

"No," Sam said with a single shake of his head. "Not at the expense of someone else's life."

"Well, that's a shame, Sam. Guess we haven't got anything else to discuss then," she turned her back on him yet, again and sauntered away, calling back over her shoulder, "if you change your mind, you know where to find me. I'll tell Dean you said hello."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Jax Callio stood at the entrance of the Thunderback Tavern, searching the crowd room for any possible signs of danger. It was a lesson hard learned that even the most seemingly innocent looking of people could turn out to be extremely dangerous if not deadly, and he would never repeat the same mistake that had nearly gotten him killed once. Luckily his twin brother, Nick, had been there at the time to save him or else he wouldn't be here now.

Nick had always been there for him, but now he was missing and the only lead Jax had to his brother's disappearance was a cryptic phone call he'd received while serving time in jail that their Uncle Jim had been brutally murdered. Nick's voice sounded frantic and high-pitched as he rapidly explained that he had witnessed the whole thing from where he'd hidden in the shadows of the church. The only other thing he'd managed to get out before the line suddenly went dead was the name Winchester.

The moment he had been released from prison, Jax skipped town, violating his parol and set out to find Nick. The first place he'd stopped was the church where his uncle had been the pastor. While there, he'd cleaned out his uncle's hidden store of ancient books and weapons, and had since read up on all sorts of things he'd never thought to believe in, but now was rapidly coming to as his search for his brother provided more puzzling clues than actual answers.

As the months dragged on, Jax came to realize his only hope for finding his brother was to locate the Winchesters. It was the last thing Nick had said, and it had to mean something important. Either they had Nick or knew who did, and either way, Jax planned to find out.

He'd actually chanced to meet Sam and Dean once when he'd been visiting his uncle, and had been intrigued by the mysteries that seemed to surround the two brothers. Jax was several years younger than both the Winchesters, and neither one had paid him much attention, but even back then he sensed that they knew certain things, things that had aged them well beyond their years.

But then again, so did Jax. Jax knew how to remain so still as not to be seen. Knew a certain word or phase, no matter how harmless, could get him severely beaten. Knew that evil didn't always reside outside the home. And knew above all else, that justice was blind to those who needed it the most, and retribution was often dealt swiftest to those who didn't deserve it.

Jax spotted the tall dark-haired man he'd been following for the past two days, and slowly pushed his way through the crowd to join him at the bar. As he drew closer, Jax noticed how the older man slammed down glass after glass of some dark amber liquid, barely taking a breather between swallows.

He took a quick look around the room, searching for the man's older brother, who he knew from months of tailing them both, should be nearby. Not finding him anywhere, Jax returned his attention to the man at the bar.

Lightly bumping into him, he consciously suppressed a smirk when he noticed the man spill his drink all over his shirt. "Sorry about that," he nudged his head toward the spilt drink, "I'll getcha another." Jax motioned for the bartender, and when she came over, he leaned in, and ordered, "Give me whatever's on tap, an' another of whatever he was having."

As the bartender went to get their drinks, Jax returned his attention back to the man, and feigned a look of subtle surprise. "Don't I know you from somewhere?" He narrowed his eyes as he looked more intently at the man. "You wouldn't by any chance be Sam Winchester?"

Taking the proffered glass from the pretty brunette bartender, Sam finally turned to look at Jax. "S-so what if I am?" Wassit ta you," Sam said, slurring his words together.

"Think you knew my uncle. Pastor Jim?"

"Yeah, knew him." Sam held his drink aloft, and tipped it toward Jax, "Ta Pasder Jim . . . Jimbo . . . an' all the other unlucky sonuvabitches tha' got their asses handed ta them by those freakin' evil bitches."

"So you knew my uncle was murdered?" Jax narrowed his blue-green eyes on Sam, trying to remain calm in the face of the man who he knew had something to do with his brother's disappearance.

"Yep, Pasder Jim, Caleb, Dad, an' now . . . D-Dean," Sam's voice hitched as he said his brother's name, "All freakin' gone," his voice rose as he swivelled in his chair to address everyone in the bar, once again lifting his glass. "Here's ta all ya freakin' clueless sonuvabitches tha' can sit here sloshin' in yer freakin' beers an' not know tha' freakin' demons are out there slaughterin' everyone."

One glance around at the clientele in the bar and Jax knew if he didn't get his new found friend out of there soon, Sam was more than likely gonna get his skull bashed in by more than just a few of the overly rough looking men. Usually he wouldn't have cared what happened to someone like Sam, hell, in the past he would've probably joined in, but he needed to gain Sam's confidence.

"Sorry, about my friend here, he's just lost someone close to him," Jax said to no one in particular, and then turned to Sam. "Come on, let's get you outta here before these good ol' boys turn on your ass."

"Din't as . . .didn't ask fer yer help," Sam gazed bleary-eyed around the smoky room, swinging his hand in gesture to everyone, "hell, could kick all yer sorry asses."

"Okay, then," Jax's eyes rounded as he noticed a few of the brawnier men, heading in their direction with fists clenched, "really think it's time to go." Throwing some money down on the counter, he hooked his arm around Sam's back and helped him to his feet. "Not much on makin' friends and influencing people are ya, Sam?"

"Don't want any friends, they all die . . . all of um."

"Well, yer just a cheery little bunch of sunshine, aren't ya." Jax chuckled as he caught Sam from stumbling, hooked the older man's arm around his neck, and quickly hauled him out of the bar.

Once outside, Jax glanced around the parking lot, pretending he didn't know exactly which car belonged to Sam. "Which one's yours?"

Sam squinted, looking at two black vehicles parked side by side, clear confusion registering on his face as he gestured between both of them. "Dunno, one of those."

"Well, as the Camaro is mine, I'm gonna just assume the Impala is yours."

"Brother's car," Sam mumbled, his shoulders sagging as he eyed the car, "never gonna be my car, always his."

Jax didn't want to feel sorry for the man he was helping to his car. How could he when he was certain Sam and Dean had something to do with his brother's disappearance? Nor did he care to lower his guard enough to feel anything that might later be used against him, but Sam appeared to be as lost without his brother as Jax was without Nick and he couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of pity for him.

"What happened to your brother?" Jax asked, not sure if he really wanted to know the answer. "My uncle Jim always spoke very highly of both you and your brother." It wasn't a lie he spoke, his uncle had always told him and his brother that the Winchesters were the kind of people you could trust with your life, but Jax wasn't so easily convinced.

"Dunno," Sam muttered as he jerked free of Jax's hold on him, "hell hounds . . . could've been hell hounds," he called back over his shoulder as he staggered toward the Impala. Fumbling in his jacket pocket, Sam yanked out his car keys and dropped them.

Jax had read about hell hounds in his uncle's books and knew they were demon dogs that ripped apart their prey before dragging them off to the fiery bowels of Hell. He didn't necessarily believe in them, but his uncle seemed to have, and from what he was gathering Sam Winchester definitely believed in them.

Although he had a hard time believing that there were actually demonic dogs who were sent charging out of Hell's gates to claim those who'd sold their souls, Jax had witnessed certain things in the months that he tailed Sam and Dean that he could not even begin to fathom. He's seen things that made him begin to question what he knew and what he'd only thought possible in his worst nightmares. And if one of these things killed his uncle, he didn't want to even imagine what could've happened to his brother. But he needed to believe Nick was alive, it was the only thing that kept him moving, kept him sane.

"Look, you're in no condition to drive," Jax strode over to him, and snatched the keys off the ground, "let me give you a ride to where ever it is you are staying, an' you can come back an' get your car in the morning."

"Don't need yer help," Sam grabbed for his keys, but Jax jerked back his arm, holding the keys just out of reach. Narrowing his hazel eyes on Jax, he nearly hissed, "don't wanna hurt ya, give me back my damn keys."

"You want them?" Jax shrugged, and tossed the keys a few feet away. "Get 'em yourself."

Sam scowled at him as he staggered to where the keys were and stooped to retrieve them. Waiting until Sam was bent over, Jax pulled his gun out of his waistband, crept up behind Sam, and slammed it into the back of the taller man's head. Sam stumbled forward, landing flat on his stomach, out cold from the force of the blow.

Jax stood for a moment, staring at the unconscious man, a small part of him feeling a slight twinge of guilt for having to hurt him, but he pushed it aside. "Sorry about that, Sam, but you left me no other choice."

He bent and snatched the keys to Impala off the ground and pocketed them. Hooking his arms under Sam's armpits and around his chest, Jax dragged him over to his Camaro. At the passenger's door, Jax leaned Sam up against the side of the car, and opened the door. Slowly he lifted the heavier man into the seat, and shut the door behind him. With one last look around to make sure no one witnessed what he'd just done, Jax headed to the driver's side and got in, started the car and drove away.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey all, new chappy!! thanks so much for reading and for all the really great reviews so far!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Four_

Sam slowly came to, blinking hard against his blurred vision and the stark pain radiating outward from the back of his head. The very first clear thought he had was that he wasn't alone, followed quickly by the fact that his hands were tightly bound behind his back. Whoever was holding him prisoner, didn't appear to be anywhere in sight, but Sam knew from experience that looks were often deceiving.

He took a look around the small, dingy motel room, noting there was a single bed, and also only two duffel bags. One of them was opened and clothes hung out over the top of it. The other remained closed, but Sam realized by the looks of it that it more than likely contained weapons. From that, he surmised that whomever held him captive was probably another hunter, and actually wondered for a moment if it might be Gordon.

The door to the bathroom swung open, and a man who was only slightly taller than Dean stepped out of the room. With unruly dirty-blond hair, steely blue-green eyes, and a strong muscular build the man definitely had the look of a hunter. But as he cast Sam a carefree smile that seemed very boyish in quality, Sam had second thoughts. There was also something very familiar about the younger man, and Sam had the distinct feeling that he knew him from somewhere, although his mind was so muddled he couldn't begin to place where from.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Sam asked still trying to figure out where he'd seen the man before.

There was a definite air of cockiness in the way the man swaggered across the room to crouch beside Sam. He glanced up atSam, a half-smile twisting on his face. "An' here I always thought I was unforgettable. That hurts, Sam."

As he stared into the depths of the man's unique blue-green eyes, an image of a younger boy came to mind. It had been a long time ago, and this man's hair was a lot longer than the short military style cut he'd sported back then. There were other differences as well, the man who knelt before him was leaner and stronger than he'd remembered. The boy he remembered had been quiet and reserved, his face tinged with yellowish-purple bruises that he'd tried to hide. His eyes held a sadness back thenthat Sam at a young age could not even begin to fathom, and in truth, did not want to. And Sam recalled ignoring him as his life was complicated enough at the time without adding someone else's troubles to his own, and now regretted it.

"Jax?" it was phased as a question although he already knew the answer. "Jax Callio, Pastor Jim's nephew."

"One in the same," Jax's grinned as he stood and went around to untie Sam's wrists. "Sorry about tying you up, but didn't feel like havin' to fight ya in yer drunkin' state." He chuckled, the deep rich sound of it filling the room. "Anyone ever tell ya, that yer a mean-assed drunk before?"

Rubbing his chaffed wrists, Sam glanced around the sparsely furnished motel room, feeling as if there was something he was missing. He turned to look at Jax. "Don't you have a twin brother?"

Jax's gaze turned inscrutable as he stared long and hard at Sam. "Nick," he said, and then turned his back on Sam. "Thought maybe you or your brother might know where he is?"

Sam's heart clenched painfully, tears threatening, but he refused to let them fall. Dean wouldn't want him to cry for him. Would want him to be strong, and Sam could do this one thing for Dean, no matter how much it burned him up inside to know his brother had died for him. "My brother's dead."

"Yeah, you told me that last night. Hell hounds from what you said." Jax strode to the bed and sat, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "So all this stuff," he ruffled his hand through his thick unruly hair as he met and held Sam's gaze, "demons, hell hounds, evil spirits . . . they really exist?" he hesitated for a moment as he glanced over to his duffel filled with weapons, and then added, "I mean, I read my uncle's books, but I really thought all that stuff was made up."

"Yeah," Sam didn't have the strength or the will to lie to the man just so Jax could sleep peacefully at night while hunters were out there dying to protect his innocence. Dean had spent his whole life trying to protect people like Jax and it was about time everyone started to realize the very real threat that lie hidden in the dark of night. "They killed your uncle, my parents, Dean, everyone I ever cared about, and they don't stop . . . they never stop."

Jax leaned closer to Sam, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he nodded in understanding. "What about my brother," he paused to draw in a deep breath, and then continued, "would they have killed Nick?"

"Your brother's missing?"

"Yeah, think he saw something he shouldn't have."

Understanding dawned on Sam as he looked to the bag of weapons. Jax was searching for Nick, and had no real idea what he was getting himself into. "Look, Jax, if you're brother somehow got mixed up into something he shouldn't have, you're not gonna be able to help him."

"Then teach me."

Sam shook his head. "Not gonna be responsible for someone else's death."

"Then get the hell outta here." Scowling, Jax bobbed his head in the direction of the door. "Don't need yer freakin' help anyhow."

"Jax — " Sam tried to argue, but Jax abruptly cut him off.

"Look, don't need no freakin' chicken-shit around tellin' me to forget about my brother . . . maybe you can forget what they did to yer brother so freakin' easily, but I want them to pay. An' if yer not willin' to help, then just get the hell out."

Sam stood so abruptly, his chair flew backwards, landing on the carpeted floor with a dull thud. "Fine, you wanna die, go ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you." Long strides took him to the front door in a matter of seconds. With hand on the door, he hesitated, glancing back at the younger man who was glaring at him, and then looked to the bag of weapons once more. "You'll die."

"Don't care."

"They'll tear you apart. They won't care that you have no idea what the hell you're doing."

"Then I'll die fighting."

"If you push too hard, they won't just go after you, but all the people you care about as well. Can you live with their blood on your hands?"

"Nick was all I had."

"Do you really think sending one or two demons back to Hell will make up for them killing your brother or uncle?"

"Don't know that my brother is dead. An' as for my uncle, hell yeah, think I'd like a little payback for that."

"So you actually think you're just gonna jump into hunting demons without knowing the first thing about it?" Sam couldn't help but be reminded of Dean by Jax's devil-may-care attitude.

"I'm on the learn as you go program," Jax grinned, "think they might have a demon hunting for dummies book at the library?"

"Do you know what salt is used for?" Sam asked, testing to see if he had any knowledge at all about the world of hunting.

"Doesn't everyone," Jax shrugged, "love salt, use it on all my food."

"Salt is used for protection, and although it doesn't get rid of spirits permanently, it will dispel them for a short time."

"Huh, think they would mention that on the container someplace." Jax chuckled, and when he noticed Sam grimacing at him, he cleared his throat, and had the decency to look slightly contrite. "Sorry, about that," he lowered his gaze and mumbled to himself, "tough crowd, Nick would've thought it was funny."

Scrubbing his hand across his face, Sam heaved a weary sigh. "Can you fight?"

"Been in prison, does that answer your question?"

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with Jax's response. "Think you could take me, if you had to?"

Jax looked him over, sizing him up, and nodded. "Think I probably could."

"No, either you can or you can't. Not probably."

"Okay, Yoda, don't get your panties in a bunch." Jax threw back his head, laughing heartily when Sam audibly groaned at his comment.

After a few moments of listening to the younger man laughing at his own joke, Sam crossed his arms and cleared his throat to gain his attention. "You just about finished cause if I'm gonna train you to hunt, I need to know how much work we have to do."

The laughter died abruptly on Jax's lips as he smiled at Sam. "You mean it? Yer gonna train me?"

"Could you beat me in a fight if you had to?" Sam asked again, waiting for his response before he gave his final decision.

"If I couldn't then I would train every moment until I could kick your ass in my sleep."

Sam gave a curt nod. "Yeah, then I'll train you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Don't think this is a good idea, Sam," Bobby grumbled, out of the corner of his eye watching Jax wander through his house. "Put those back down," he gruffly ordered, as the younger man started going through his amulets and charms.

"Sorry," Jax feigned an apologetic look, "wasn't gonna steal yer freakin' jewelry princess," he muttered under his breath as he turned his back on Bobby and roamed further into the room.

Sam rolled his eyes, noticing Jax purposely touching and picking up everything as he made his way over to stand near the fireplace. "What was I supposed to do, Bobby," he asked in a hushed voice.

"Could've said no, you don't know anythin' about the Callio boys," Bobby scrubbed a hand across his beard, heaving an aggravated groan. "What about don't touch my stuff, aren't you understandin'?" he asked Jax, noticing the younger man had just picked up a shotgun that was leaning against the stone fireplace.

"'Kay, old man," Jax set the gun down, "seems like someone never learned how to share in the sandbox," he cocked a brow, and smirked at Bobby, "did they even have sand boxes back when the dinosaurs roamed the earth?"

"Jax," Sam glared at him, and gave a quick shake of his head, "just leave his stuff alone."

"Wasn't doin' anything wrong, Sam, the man just doesn't like me for some reason."

"Know more about ya than ya think," Bobby hastily defended himself. "Been in and out of jail since you were fifteen. First time was a murder charge wasn't it?"

Jax looked from Sam to Bobby and then back again. Seeing the look of mistrust forming on Sam's features, his smile faltered and then disappeared, a hard lump forming in his throat. "You ain't got no idea what yer talkin' about, so you should just shut your freakin' mouth." With one last look at both of them, Jax stormed from the room, roughly pushing past Sam on his way out the door.

Sam swung to follow, but Bobby grabbed hold of his arm. "Let him go, Sam. He ain't nothin' but trouble."

Eying him for a moment, Sam shrugged free of Bobby's hold on him, and made to follow after Jax, calling back over his shoulder, "Let enough people just go, made him a promise an' I intend to keep it."

"Look, I know yer hurtin', Sam, but helpin' this kid isn't the answer."

Sam swung back to glare at him. "You do, huh . . . how could you possibly know how I'm feelin'?" His scowl deepened, brows knitting closely together. "No one in your family ever died cause they sold their soul to bring you back from the dead, so don't pretend like you can even begin to understand how I'm feelin'."

Before Bobby had a chance to reply, Sam turned on his heel and stalked from the house to find Jax. As he stepped outside, Sam shielded his eyes from the sunlight and peered around the salvage yard, searching for Jax. It didn't take long before he spotted Jax leaning up against his Camaro with head lowered, legs crossed, raking his fingers through his dirty-blond hair. Jax's body language was so reminiscent of Dean's that all Sam could do for a moment was stand there and stare with his breath caught in his throat.

After several seconds, he finally snapped out of the trance he'd seemed to fall under, and headed over to Jax. Leaning against the car, Sam crossed his arms, and inclined his head toward the house. "So, what Bobby said, gonna tell me about it?"

Jax cast a sidelong glance in Sam's direction, and then lowered his gaze once more. "Why? Not like you'd believe me."

"You never know, I just might."

For the longest time Jax was silent as he kicked at stones with the toe of his boot, and just when Sam was sure he wouldn't respond, Jax finally spoke. "When I was fifteen my father came home one night in a drunkin' rage. I made Nick hide up in the crawlspace and told him not to come out no matter what." His eyes narrowed considerably as he recalled the details of that night. "Tried to calm my Dad down, he was so pissed an' he was lookin' for Nick . . . was always lookin' for Nick when he got in his moods, but I wouldn't tell him where he was."

He gingerly touched at long jagged scar that began near the side of his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. "So he beat the hell outta me. Last thing I remembered, he struck me in the head with somethin', an' I lost consciousness. Woke up a day later in the hospital with thirty-two stitches in my head, broken ribs and an' a broken arm." A wry grin twisted on his face. "An' you know what the police report said?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but didn't even begin to know what he could say to the younger man, so closed his mouth and shook his head.

"Said I fell off my skateboard. Never owned a skateboard in my life. But when your father is a police officer, they'll pretty much believe anything."

"So you killed him?"

Jax shook his head. "Never touched him."

"Nick killed him," Sam said with sudden understanding. "Your brother killed him and you took the blame for it."

"Two days after I got home from the hospital my Dad went out drinkin', an' got home real late. I was still awake, an' he was so angry . . . was lookin' for somethin', don't even remember what it was, an' he blamed me for it. Tried to run, but he caught a hold of me, an' I fell to the floor . . . an' he just kept hittin' me . . . an' I couldn't breathe," Jax paused to take a deep breath, and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "Next thing I remember was hearing a gunshot, an' my father slumped over on top of me."

"So Nick killed him to protect you, and you took the blame to protect him." Although John had never beaten them, Sam could totally understand the reasoning behind what they'd done for each other. Hell, it was no more than what either he or Dean would have done to protect each other, and so he couldn't find fault in that.

"Yeah, pretty much." Jax laughed to break the tension that now seemed to fill the air. "Spent twenty months in juvie before my attorney finally got people to come forward to testify that Nick and I had been severely beaten on several occasions. After that the state realized how badly they'd botched the case, and let me go with time served."

"An' the other times you were in prison?"

"A kids gotta eat, an' clothes aren't free." Jax brushed his hand along the surface of his Camaro, a look of pure pride in ownership on his face. "An' I just wasn't willing to sell my car for those things. It was the only good thing I ever got from my father." He looked to Sam once again, and asked, "So, you still gonna teach me how to hunt or do I have to go it alone?"

After several long seconds of thinking of every possible

reason why he shouldn't help him, Sam finally nodded. "Yeah, still gonna teach ya." Sam's thoughts turned to a spirit who had been terrorizing a local library. Both he and Dean had been looking into for the past few weeks, and decided it was the best place to start teaching Jax. "Heard about a vengeful spirit two towns over, so we'll start out with a simple salt and burn."

"Cool," Jax quirked a brow, a clear look of confusion on his face, "so what's a salt and burn?"

Sam shook his head, pushed away from the car and walked toward the house, calling back over his shoulder, "Yeah, we so got a lot of work to do."


	5. Chapter 5

_so another new chappy, hope everyone is enjoying so far!! thanks for reading ad for the awesome reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Five_

Dean found Joshua sitting in the same rocking chair he'd been in when Jonathan left. The little boy was softly crying as he stared into the fire, shoulders trembling slightly as he brushed away his tears. Scrubbing his hand across his face, Dean tried to decide how best to calm the boy down, but couldn't think of anything.

Slowly as to not scare the child, Dean sidled up alongside of him, and crouched down on his haunches, forearms resting on his knees. For the longest time they both sat in silence. Every once in a while both would give each other a cursory glance, and if it chanced to happen at the same time, they would both quickly look away.

Finally, Dean couldn't take the near deafening silence any longer and tried to break the ice, "So, you like the Yankees," he asked as he gestured to the baseball cap the boy held firmly in his grasp. "Never saw a game myself, but I guess if you have to like baseball the Yankees are as good of a team as any to like."

No response.

Joshua hugged the baseball cap more firmly to his chest, huge tears cascading down his cheeks unchecked. _Okay, so that didn't go over as well as I'd expected. _Sitting cross-legged, Dean searched his mind for any topic a little boy might be interested in, and came up blank.

Undeterred, Dean tried again, "I have a really cool car. Got it from my Dad when I was sixteen. She's a real beaut, and she's as fast as any car I've ever seen in NASCAR."

Nothing.

"Saw the Transformers movie awhile ago back. Gotta love cars that turn into freakin' awesome kick-ass robots."

Still not a single word from his new charge, and Dean was quickly running out of things he thought would interest the little boy. "You like pool or darts? I play a mean game of pool . . . I could teach you if you want."

Joshua looked briefly in his direction, shook his head, and went back to staring at the blazing fire.

Not knowing what else to say, Dean brought up the one subject, he really didn't want to think about at the moment. "I have a brother. His name is Sam, I call him Sammy. He hates that," he chuckled as he imagined Sam rolling his eyes at the name, "but as the big brother, it's my right to give out nicknames. So I think I'm gonna call you Jay."

Joshua glanced at him again, and crinkled his pert little nose in dislike. Dean laughed, reminded of a younger Sam who would scrunch his nose in the same manner if he hated something.

"Don't like that nickname?" Dean waited, and when he saw Joshua give a slight shake of his head, he continued, "Ah, it'll grow on you, you'll see. Even Sam doesn't mind being called Sammy that much anymore. Course it did take twenty-five years for the name to actually grow on him, but I have higher hopes for you."

Joshua opened his mouth as if to say something, frowned and then closed it again, turning back to look at the fire.

"How old are you?"

Joshua dropped his baseball cap onto his lap and held up six fingers. _Okay, so much for asking questions that can be answered without saying a word._

"You hungry or tired, Jay?" Now Dean was just grasping at straws as he was out ideas on how to get Joshua to speak to him. When Joshua still refused to say anything, Dean heaved a deep aggravated sigh. Scratching the back of his head, he glanced around the sparsely furnished room, wondering exactly how safe it would be to spend the night there. "Look, I know you'd rather not be here with me. Hell, I'd rather not be here either, but looks like we're all each other has for the moment so I'll make ya deal. You talk to me, and I'll let you give me a nickname." Dean smiled as he noticed Joshua's face brighten a little.

"Chipmunk."

Dean's brows raised slightly in confusion, clearly thinking he must have misunderstood the softly spoke word. "Huh?"

"Wanna call you Chipmunk."

"Chipmunk," Dean scrubbed his hand across his face, wondering how he was going to argue with a six-year-old that Chipmunk was definitely not a name any hunter in his right mind would want to have. "Wouldn't Rambo or Terminator be a better name?"

"Nope, you're a Chipmunk," Joshua giggled.

"Okay, how about this, you can call me Chipmunk when no one else is around, but when we're out in public you call me Dean?" Dean could almost picture his brother laughing at the nickname Joshua had chosen for him. And if Sam were here at the moment, Dean knew he would never live the name down, so he was thankful that his brother wasn't around to hear it.

Joshua scrunched up his face as if deep in thought, and then shook his. "Nope, gonna call you Chipmunk all the time."

Dean had run out of arguments to try and dissuaded Joshua. So finally he conceded with a single nod of his head, hoping Joshua would forget the stupid rotten nickname by the time they'd actually went out in public. "You hungry, Jay?"

"A little," he replied and at nearly the same time, Dean heard the little boy's stomach rumble.

"Maybe more than just a little?" Dean asked, seeing Joshua hug onto his stomach.

Joshua cheeks blushed a subtle shade of pink as he lowered his head and gave a quick nod.

"When was the last time you ate anything?"

Picking at the hole in the knee of his faded jeans, Joshua kept his gaze averted from Dean as he tried to evade the question. "Kinda tired, Chipmunk."

"Did you eat anything today, Jay?"

"Wanna go to bed," he replied, tearing a larger hole in his jeans as he continued to fidget under such close scrutiny.

"Last night? Did you eat anything then?" Dean asked in a sterner voice, needing to know how long the boy had gone without anything to eat.

Tears rolled down the little boy's cheeks again as his stomach growled even louder. "Yer mad at me."

"Not mad, just need to know when you ate last. Yesterday morning?"

Joshua slowly shook his head.

"The night before that?" Dean's eyes narrowed, brows pulling together in an angry scowl when the he saw the boy shake his head again. "When was the last time you ate something, anything?"

"Had cereal. Frosted Flakes."

"Two freakin' days ago?" Dean asked incredulously, not wanting to believe that anyone would allow a child to go without food for two days in a row.

"Not tellin' ya, Chipmunk, yer mad at me." Joshua pulled his knees up to his chest, hugged his arms around them and lowered his head to rest against them as he rocked back and forth in the rocking chair.

Dean suddenly realized that it wasn't that Joshua didn't want tell him when he'd eaten last, it was that he was embarrassed to have to admit that Jonathan couldn't afford to buy food for him. He knew exactly how that felt, growing up with money being so scarce that oftentimes he would go without so that Sam could eat. Jonathan, for all his attitude toward Dean, seemed to genuinely love Joshua, and Dean grudgingly had to admit the man had probably done the best he could. Although Dean couldn't find it in himself to forgive a man who would knowing let a child starve no matter what the circumstances.

"Get your coat, we're gonna go get pizza."

Joshua's head snapped back up, a huge grin on his face. "With ronis on it?"

"Pepperoni, sure. Extra cheese, whatever you want."

Leaping to his feet, Joshua darted from the room to get his coat, and Dean couldn't help but notice how thin the little boy was. Although the firelight had at first made his cheeks appear slightly chubby, Dean now realized that his cheekbones were predominant due to the gauntness of the rest of his little face. The ragged blue sweatshirt Joshua wore hung loosely on his overly thin frame. Dean also noticed how Joshua grabbed hold of the belt loop in his jeans as he ran so that they wouldn't fall down on him. And for all of Jonathan's talk about Dean not being a proper Guardian for the boy, Dean knew he would do a helluva lot better than a man who had been with the child for six months and hadn't realized how malnourished Joshua truly was.

Joshua came scurrying back into the room clutching onto a jacket that was torn in several spots and looked way too small even for someone Joshua's size. "Chipmunk, you help me zip it up? Can't never do it."

"Sure, Jay."

Dean helped him into his jacket, and grimaced, seeing that the sleeves only went halfway down his long bony arms. He was forced to yank hard on both sides of the thin material to make the coat fit snug around Joshua's chest and stomach and actually felt the material tear in the back as he zipped it up. As he did this, his thoughts raced to how much money he had left in his wallet to afford to buy the boy a new coat and all the things he would need. But without his fake credit cards, he didn't think he would do much better than Jonathan had done to watch over the boy.

"Gonna have to make a quick stop before we get somethin' to eat, Jay. Gotta make us a little money so I can get you a new coat."

"A new coat?" Joshua's smile broadened, showing one missing upper tooth. "Can I get new shoes, too? Mine are kinda small," he said, and then lowered his head in embarrassment when Dean glanced down at the pair of sneakers he wore that were ripping out at the sides.

"Yeah, new sneakers, too."

Hearing that, Joshua rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and hugged him firmly before quickly letting go and stepping back.

"Come on, kiddo, let's get outta this dump an' go win us some money," Dean said, scuffling Jousha's long unruly hair. He headed toward the entrance with Joshua following close behind, calling back over his shoulder, "Maybe I'll even win enough to get you a proper haircut."

Joshua stopped dead in his tracks. "Don't wanna haircut, Chipmunk. Don't make me get a haircut."

Dean swung to look at him, and chuckled when he saw the stricken look on Joshua's little face. "Naw, you don't have to get one, think Sammy hasn't ever gotten one, his hair is so damn shaggy."

As they both stepped outside into the cool air, Joshua stuffed his hands into his pockets, and shivered as a chilled breeze swept past them. Dean noticed, hastily shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around him. Sudden realization struck him that he didn't have his car, and he grimaced knowing that they would have to walk all the way to the nearest town.

Joshua tugged on Dean's arm as he glanced around, also apparently looking for the car. "Where's yer car, Chipmunk?"

"Brother has it, guess we're gonna have to walk."

Together they headed down the overgrown path, Joshua sloshing through every puddle along the way, drenching both of their clothes as he giggled. At first, Joshua ran along ahead of Dean, jumping in and out of puddles, his laughter filling the air, but after a short time he slowed to Dean's steady pace.

The quiet country road, bordered on either side by thick groves of trees, snaked around and seemed to stretch out endlessly. As they trudged up what must have been the fifth hilly incline, Joshua yawned tiredly, rubbing his eyes. Slowly he began to lag behind, until his little legs gave out on him, and he plunked down in the middle of the road.

"Kinda tired, Chipmunk, when we gonna get there?"

"Not exactly sure how far it is to town, Jay," Dean said as he strode back to where Joshua was sitting cross-legged, and scooped him up into his arms. "Shouldn't be that much further though."

Joshua wrapped his wiry arms around Dean's neck, and laid his head against his shoulder. Sighing contentedly, he soon fell asleep in Dean's arms.

After what seemed like the longest time, they reached a small town. Dean headed directly for the first bar he saw, and went inside. Gently setting Joshua down on one of the seats, Dean took off the jacket he'd let Joshua wear and wrapped it around him. Joshua immediately curled up into it, snored softly, and smiled in his sleep.

Dean then turned his attention to making them some money. He glanced around the room and noticed several guys playing pool at two tables situated at the back of the bar. Taking one last look at Joshua to make sure he was still asleep, he turned and headed over to the first table.

As the day dragged on, Dean took turns winning a few and then losing just enough to make it appear as if he didn't know what he was doing. As his opponents' confidence in their own abilities grew so did the stakes, and Dean knew it was time to move in for the kill. When his turn came to shoot, Dean made quick work of clearing the table. With a smile on his face, he snatched the stack of money off the ledge of the table, and was about to pocket it when the larger of the two men he'd been playing against, slammed his pool cue down on the table.

"Double or nothin', huh?" He sneered, "You freakin' hustled us."

"Nope," Dean shook his head, "lady luck was just smilin' on me is all."

The large man with bulging biceps, nudged and even bigger man who was playing pool at the table next to the one they's played at, and he turned to glare at Dean. "He cheated us, Ace, pretended he didn't know how to play, and hustled all our money."

"No one messes with my little brother," Ace growled, his fingers tightening around the pool cue in his hand.

By now the man Ace was playing against joined in on the argument, he too, wielding a pool cue in his hand. "You gonna give Rocky back his money, or are we gonna have ta beat the hell outta you and take it back?"

Trying to figure out the best way to get out of the bar without having to give the money back, Dean shook his head. "Won the money fair and square, and I'll kick the ass of anyone who thinks otherwise."

As the first of two pool cues struck him in the stomach, doubling him over, Dean couldn't help but think that was probably not the best thing to say. The second cracked hard against his back, and he could tell by the force of the blow it had been Ace who'd done it. Holding tight to the money in his hand, he flew forward to land face down on the dirty floor.

Ace hauled him to his feet, and his brother and the man who'd struck him with the first cue held onto his arms as Ace repeatedly smashed a beefy fists into Dean's stomach and face. Blood trickled down his chin from his split lip, and also from a deep cut on his forehead. Together, they took turns using Dean as a human punching bag, until someone loudly cleared their throat to gain the men's attention.

"Think that will be just about enough," Dean heard a faintly familiar voice, and glanced up through bleary vision to see Michael standing there looking every bit the deadly adversary.

Ace turned on Michael. "You really don't wanna get involved in this. The man cheated my brother, an' he's payin' for it."

"Think I said, that will be enough," Michael narrowed his eyes, and smirked, "he's learned his lesson, haven't you, Dean?"

The two men holding Dean, let go of him and unsupported, Dean dropped to his knees. All the men turned on Michael ready to fight.

Clenching his fists, Ace glared at Michael. "You got like one second to get the hell outta here, or we'll make you wish the hell you did."

"Dude," Dean spit out the blood in his mouth, coughing hard against the pain in his aching chest, "really wouldn't do that if I were you."

Ace swung to look at Dean for a moment, and then quickly rounded on Michael throwing a solid punch directed at Michael's face. Catching his fist mid-strike, Michael drove the weaker man to his knees without exerting any force. His fingers tightened around Ace's hand, nearly crushing it, and Ace let out a pain-filled yelp.

Dean grabbed onto the back of a chair, and slowly made his way back to his feet, pocketed the money he'd never let go off, and rubbed his sore jaw. "Told ya, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Michael released his hold on the man, and looked to each of the other men in turn, and then inclined his head toward the pool table. "Said he'd had enough, now go back to playing pool, or I might get really mad. And believe me when I say, you really don't want me to get mad."

The three men took one look at Ace clutching his hand and whimpering on the ground, and in unison they all nodded, and returned to playing pool. With them taken care of, Dean trudged to where Michael was standing, and waited for the lecture that he knew was forthcoming.

"You were entrusted with the safety of Joshua's well-being, and yet within five hours as his Guardian, you've brought him into a bar so you could hustle money from unsuspecting people." Michael stood silently staring at Dean, disappointment clearly written on the angel's face. "I knew I was right about you."

"What the hell did you expect me to do," Dean uttered, his own anger igniting, "the kid was starving, and you took all my credit cards. I'm doin' the best I can."

"Sometimes, Dean, you're best just isn't good enough." Michael crossed his arms over his expansive chest, and glared condemningly at Dean. "I need you to be better than your best, and I will accept no less from you while Joshua is in your care." Without waiting for Dean to respond to the cutting remark, Michael swung to look around the smoky room, and then turned back to glare at him. "Where is he?"

"He's right — " the words died on Dean's lips as he glanced beyond Michael to where he'd left Joshua, and saw nothing but his leather jacket on the bench seat. His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he frantically looked around the room, searching for Joshua, but couldn't find him anywhere. _Oh, No. No. No. No. No._ _He was right there. I left him right there. _

"Dean, where – is – Joshua?" Michael stressed each word, condemning Dean a little more with the force of each one he uttered.

Taking on last look around the bar, hoping against hope that the small boy would somehow miraculously turn up, Dean lowered his head, and said, "I dunno."


	6. Chapter 6

_New chappy, hope everyone is enjoying the story so far!! thanks for all the great reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Six_

"Get your ass off the ground and fight, Jax," Sam ordered, with a deadly glint in his hazel eyes.

"Think he's had enough for the day, Sam," Bobby called over to Sam from where he leaned against the Impala watching the two men training. Pushing away from the vehicle, Bobby made to help Jax up, but Sam shook his head and resumed his fighting stance.

"Stay out of this, Bobby. He wants to be a hunter, he needs to learn how to defend himself."

Jax pushed himself up onto his knees and swiped away the blood trickling down his chin with the back of his hand. What had started out as a lesson to see how well Jax could defend himself had quickly changed when he'd unwittingly called him Sammy instead of Sam. The moment he had, Sam's whole demeanor transformed, the aggression behind each of his blows staggering in the force he exerted.

"Said to get up, Jax. Not gonna say it again."

Not about to let Sam know how much pain he was in and determined to prove himself, Jax slowly made his way to his feet. Raising his fists, Jax feigned a lopsided grin, wincing slightly at the pain it caused his split lip. "That the best ya got, Sam-my?"

"Don't call me that," Sam sneered, lashing out at him.

Jax deftly blocked the first punch, but the second one caught him right below the ribcage followed quickly by another jab to his stomach. His breath left him in a heated rush as he doubled over. Drawing in slow breaths, he righted himself, and glared at Sam. "Don't call you what, Sam-my?" he tauntingly jeered between breaths. "If you don't like the name Sammy, just tell me, Sammy, cause if you don't like the name Sammy, I won't call you by it . . . Sam-my."

"Jax, yer just askin' for a beatin'," Bobby warned, and as Jax took his sights off of Sam to look to the older hunter for a moment, Sam lunged at him again, slamming his fists into his unprotected mid-section. "Keep yer guard up. Don't allow for distraction." Bobby grimaced as Jax dropped to his knees once more, clutching his gut and gasping for air.

"Get up," Sam once again commanded through clenched teeth. "If you were fighting against a demon or vengeful spirit, you'd be dead right now."

"Think I'd rather take my chances with the demons and spirits," Jax muttered under his breath as he slowly dragged himself to his feet. Once more he resumed his fighting stance, balling his fists and raising them to defend himself.

"Why don't you just quit, Jax?" Sam shook his head in disbelief at the younger man who refused to stay down no matter how many times he'd landed on the ground. "You'll never make it as a hunter."

"What, should I give up like yer brother did? Would that make ya feel better?" Jax countered as he brushed his shaggy bangs out of his eyes, never taking his sights off of Sam. "Not gonna happen, Sam. My brother's out there somewhere, an' I'm not gonna give up on him."

"He's dead, Jax," Sam replied in a cruel and cutting manner, "time you started realizing that if you haven't found him by now, he's gone."

"Tell me somthin', dude, if you thought there was a chance Dean was alive somewhere out there how quickly would you give up on him?" When Sam failed to respond, Jax nodded. "Huh, thought so."

"You aren't gonna find him," Sam staunchly countered, crossing his arms in front of himself. "And if he's still alive . . . and that's a huge _if_ . . . I can pretty much guarantee he won't be the same person you used to know. The only reason a demon would keep him alive is if it was possessing his body. An' I can tell you right now, you don't even want to know the kinds of things they make a person do while possessing them."

"Don't care. He's my brother . . . the only person I've got left."

"If you do find him, you'll probably end up having to kill him to save him. Think you can do that?"

"Not gonna kill Nick."

"Then you'd die," Sam uttered without a moment's hesitation or the least bit of compassion. "Cause if he's possessed, he won't think twice about slitting your throat."

"You don't know that."

"You really have no freakin' clue, do you?" A derisive chuckle escaped Sam's lips as he shook his head at Jax's total ignorance of the things he wanted to hunt down. "Watched my own father almost kill Dean cause he was possessed. Had to shoot him to get him to stop, and if I had killed him that night, Dean might still be alive right now. So don't stand here telling me what I don't know what the hell I'm talking about."

Without giving Jax a chance to respond, Sam strode over to the Impala, motioned for Bobby to move, got in, started the engine and drove away. Bobby gave Jax a quick disapproving glance, shook his head, and heaving a deep sigh, headed inside his house.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Sam drove around aimlessly, not exactly sure where he was headed, but knowing that he needed to get away from Jax before he really hurt him in his anger. He was seriously beginning to doubt he could train the younger man, who reminded him too much of Dean, and yet didn't have a quarter of the skills his brother had possessed. Truthfully, he was more than a little surprised that Jax hadn't given up yet as he'd spent the past few days making his life absolutely miserable. And in truth, Sam had to admit to himself if to no one else that he'd gotten a certain satisfaction out of repeatedly beating up the younger man.

At first he'd fooled himself into believing that is was under the guise of training him, but after today's lesson he knew it for what it really was, and the thought didn't sit very well with him. He was making Jax suffer for he deal Dean had made, was placing all his anger and rage on the younger man in hopes of lessening his own pain. And he knew it was wrong to do, knew Jax didn't deserve it, but he needed to make someone feel even a tenth of the pain he was feeling, and Jax made for the easiest target.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam spotted an old stone church, and turned to glance at it briefly as he sped past it. Turning the corner, he drove around the block twice before he finally pulled off to the side of the road in from the church, and read the name Our Lady of Hope on the sign out in front of the building.

A wry grin twisted on his lips as he thought back to a time when he'd put so much effort in believing there was a higher calling in the world. He recalled believing in angels and praying for all he was worth that they would save him from his destiny. But they weren't real and the only thing closest to an angel that he'd ever really known had made a deal, and now there was nothing left for him to believe in.

Not really understanding why he needed to go inside, Sam slid out of his seat, closed the door behind him, and headed toward the entrance. As he walked, he thought of all the times that he'd pleaded with God to hear his calls and protect what was left of his small family. Not one of his prayers had ever been answered. Not one. So why he felt the sudden urge to go into the church was well beyond him.

Once inside, Sam strode down the pathway between the pews and headed for the front of the cathedral and took a seat in the first row. For the longest time, he just sat there staring at the rows and rows of lit candles at the front of the altar, and wondered if people actually believed any of their prayers would be answered just because they'd taken the time to light a stupid candle. To him it seemed like such a foolish waste of time, and actually pitied those who thought some higher power would deem to answer their unspoken cries for help.

After a while, his gaze strayed to the large marble statue of Jesus in long flowing robes with arms outstretched as if to represent the fact that he was waiting to usher the wretched of the world into his loving embrace. His arms had never been open to the Winchesters. His back turned as Dean died at the hands of demons. And as he thought this, a single tear slipped down his cheek unheeded.

Two powerful looking statues of archangels flanked either side of the one of Jesus, and as he looked from one to the other, several more tears fell unchecked. Where were they when Dean needed them the most, when he needed them the most. If they were real, and he seriously doubted that they were, why had they closed their eyes to the people who had risked all to save others from demons. If they were so damn powerful, why did they leave demons to reek havoc on the world, and do nothing to prevent it? Why had they allowed Dean to die?

The soft sound of someone clearing their throat brought Sam out of his tortured musings, and he glanced up at a man who had to be at least an inch or two taller than him. Garbed in priest's attire, the muscular man with crystal clear blue eyes and shoulder length raven black hair looked very out of place in wearing them. To Sam, it seemed as if the man would be more at home on Monday Night Smackdown Wrestling than as the head of a church.

"Sorry to interrupt," the priest said in a deep rich tone that carried throughout the quiet of the cathedral, "but I couldn't help noticing how sad you appeared. Thought maybe I could be of some help."

Sam brushed away the tears from his cheeks as he lowered his head. "There's nothing anyone can do to help me, Father."

"Rather you just called me Raphael, never been much for titles," he said as he took a seat beside Sam. "An' as for help, you never know . . . been told I'm pretty good at helping people."

After a long pause where Sam fought the urge to just get up and walk away, he finally asked, "You believe in demons, Raphael?"

"All kinds," he replied with a carefree smile, "those of Hell and those we create on our own . . . which ones are troubling you?"

"What about selling your soul?" Sam blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Don't think it rates up there as the smartest thing to do." Raphael chuckled in an attempt to show he wasn't condemning Sam for his question, and then continued, "Why? You weren't planning on selling yours, were you?"

Sam thought over the offer the crossroads demon had made him to save Dean. It would be so easy for him to find the child she'd wanted, and he was sorely tempted to give into his own need to have his brother back. But, no matter how much he want to, he couldn't barter someone else's life for his brother's and especially not a little child's.

Glancing up at the priest, Sam tried to gage what the man would believe and whether he could trust him with all he had to say. In the man's eyes, Sam saw an understanding there that he'd never before witnessed in any other, and so he began, "No, my brother did. Sold his soul to bring me back from the dead. An' I wish to God that he didn't . . . how can I live with that?"

Raphael was quiet for the longest time apparently mulling over what Sam had told him. Sam was surprised to see the priest held no commendation for what he'd just heard, although he did notice the smile disappeared from the man's face.

"Your brother . . . was he a good man?" he finally asked.

"He was the best person I've ever known," Sam replied without the slightest hesitation, tears welling in his eyes once more. "Risked his life to save more people than you could ever possibly imagine . . . an' he didn't deserve to die like that."

"Sometimes things happen for a reason, an' you just don't realize what that purpose is until you follow it through till the end."

A bitter laugh escaped Sam's lips as he glanced once more to the statues of the archangels. "You really believe in all this stuff, don't you? Angels, God, an' saving grace . . . none of it's real, ya know . . . only demons. They're real and they take everything from you. Leave you with nothing."

"If that's the way you feel then the demons of the world have already won. They don't need to buy your soul, they already have it." Raphael clasped his hands together and looked to the statue of Jesus. "Things are not always what they seem. Maybe God has witnessed your suffering and knows the sacrifices you and your brother have made. Perhaps He is just testing you and has bigger plans for you and your brother than you could ever possibly imagine. So, if I were you, I would never count Him out."

"He can't bring my brother back. Can't save his soul . . . can't save me."

Raphael looked Sam dead in the eyes, his features turning menacing as a cold breeze filtered into the church, candles flickering and then dying away. "There's absolutely nothing He can't do. Don't you ever forget that."

"You really believe that?"

"Yeah," he replied as he got up from his seat, and walked away, calling back over his shoulder, "I really believe that, Sam. So count yourself amongst the blessed."

Hearing Raphael call him by his name when he knew he hadn't told him what it was, Sam swung around in his seat, and found he was all alone in the church. He turned back to glance at the statues of the archangels and noticed a beam of light cast down from a window high over head, lit up one of the two. He stood and walked over to it and read the name on the base of the statue. "Raphael," he whispered under his breath, then looked back to where the man had just been sitting, and a feeling of hope filled him.


	7. Chapter 7

_hey all, thsnks for reading and reviewing!!! it means so much to me!!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Seven_

Dean had checked the entire bar, trying to find Joshua, had asked everyone if they'd seen him leave, but no one recalled the little boy, much less seeing him leave. Michael stood at the entrance with arms crossed, watching as Dean frantically checked under each of the tables in hopes that Joshua was just hiding, and again came up with nothing. The boy had just disappeared without a trace.

"You know how many Guardians Joshua has had, Dean?" Michael called over to him in a low menacing tone.

"No, don't really freakin' care right now," he muttered as he crouched low to check under the pool table.

"Including you, twelve," Michael answered his own question. "Care to guess how many of those twelve lost Joshua in the six months he was in their care?"

"Right about now, I'm kinda hopin' they all did." Dean turned slightly to look over at the angel.

"Nope, only one. Only one of those twelve Guardians decided to just take Joshua into a bar so he could hustle pool."

Dean stood to glare at Michael. "Only thing I'm guilty of here is tryin' to make sure the kid had somethin' to eat. Didn't mean for him to be taken, an' swear to God I'll find him, so just get hell off of my back for just a second."

"How do you plan on doing that? You have no idea who has him or where they might've taken him to."

"I'll figure somethin' out . . . Sammy could help me find him," Dean said, although he already knew what the answer would be to that.

"No, Dean, you lost him, it's your job to find him." Michael turned and headed out of the bar with Dean following close behind him.

"Who would want to take him," Dean called out to the angel who was making long strides toward a black Chevelle parked in the far corner of the parking lot. "You have to have some idea, you're a freakin' Archangel for Christ's sake."

"Could be any one of a number of depraved creatures. Demons and vampires probably topping the list." Michael stopped at the car, opened his hand and a set of keys appeared.

Dean halted in his steps just a few feet away from the angel, wondering why Michael would need a car to travel anywhere. His unasked question was answered a moment later when Michael handed him the keys

"You're givin' me this car?" Dean asked, dumbfounded as he stared appreciatively at the mint condition 69' Chevy Chevelle.

"Can't have you walking everywhere . . . well, I could, but then you'd probably steal a car, and I won't have you corrupting Joshua like that."

Dean's thoughts went back to Joshua and what Michael had said a few moments ago. "If Joshua is this child of hope, I can understand why demons would be after him, but why vampires?"

Michael was silent for a moment as he leaned against the Chevelle with arms crossed. Finally he responded, "Imagine a vampire race with unlimited power, with blood so pure it would continually regenerate the body making them virtually impossible to stop. Now picture them being able to hunt during the day as well as at night. Within a few short months over half the human population would be gone, and within year there would be no one left but vampires."

"So they get a hold of Joshua, bleed him dry, an' then this super vampire race comes into existence?"

"Exactly."

"An' I'm guessing since you're tellin' me all about this, you know who took Joshua?"

"Name's Rowan Shade, although he usually goes by the name Shade." Michael hesitated for a moment his steady gaze straying to the amulet around Dean's neck, then took a slow steady breath and continued, "An' you don't have to worry about looking for him cause he'll find you."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Rowan Shade sat behind the wheel of the late modeled sedan he'd taken from a man he'd killed, his mate Gwen in the passenger's seat with a small blond-haired boy tucked between the two of them. In his side-view mirror, he intently watched the two men standing beside a black Chevelle. If the information he'd obtained was correct the shorter of two was the boy's new Guardian and also a hunter. The taller, he knew to be Michael.

Michael was of little concern to him. It was the other man Rowan was interested in. The other man who held the key to obtaining what he'd long desired. And as he watched, Rowan mulled over how he was going to get the amulet the man wore away from him. Without it, Rowan knew Joshua was useless to him.

"Don't understand why we can't just try," Gwen interrupted his thoughts as she eagerly eyed the little boy who was in a deep trance-like slumber. "Just one taste, Shade. One taste should be enough to determine if we need the amulet or not."

"Said no," Rowan said in a short clipped manner, "you, above all people, should know that he said it wouldn't work."

Gwen heaved an irritated sigh as she traced her sharpened nail down the length of the vain in Joshua's neck, licking her full pale lips. "You really believe in this whole thin line between good and evil crap, don't you? Think he'll keep his promise when all is said an' done," she scoffed. "When have vampires ever meant anything to his kind. We can't trust him, Shade. He'll destroy us as quickly as he plans on destroying the human race. Why hand over the only leverage we have?"

"Never said I was just gonna had him over, Gwen."

"So you're planning on keeping the boy then?"

He nodded eliciting a deliciously wicked grin from her. "When have I ever let demons determine what I can and can not do?"

As she apparently mulled over what he'd just said, the smile slid from features, a deep worried frown taking its place. "He's not like other demons — "

Cut off from saying anything else by a sudden rap on the window, they both shifted in their seats to see a muscular man with unruly dirty-blond hair and menacing blue-green eyes standing there. Without waiting for them to respond to him, he yanked opened the door and with a nudge of his head, motioned for both of them to get out of the car. Reluctantly, both got out of the car, leaving Joshua inside.

"When were you planning on telling me about the boy?" the man asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the car. "You wouldn't by chance be planning on double crossing me, would you?" He laughed, his eyes shifting from blue-green to fiery crimson and then back again.

Shade cleared his throat, and averted his gaze from the man before him, knowing that to look him in the eyes would be considered an insult and the punishment severe. "My Lord, Lucifer," he addressed the man, bowing slightly, "we would never think to do such a thing."

Lucifer's ominous gaze shifted to where the boy was for a moment, then strayed to the black Chevelle car parked down the road a ways with a man just getting inside of it, and a devious smile graced his face. "Dean Winchester," he muttered more to himself than to either of them as he scrubbed his hand across his jaw, and quirked a brow in contemplation. "I see that the Winchester's luck is as good now as it ever was. One day as a Guardian and already doing a bang up job of it." He smirked as he returned his attention to the two vampires. "Tell me you have the amulet cause I'd really hate to be disappointed."

"No," Rowan glanced quickly at the black car driving away, and then back at Lucifer, "but we will have it soon enough."

"No?" The ground beneath their feet cracked and shook as Lucifer took a step toward Rowan and Gwen. "Thought I made it very clear how important the amulet was . . . thought I told you that without it, I can't even get close to the boy. And you failed me on this?"

Lucifer's arm shot outward, and he grabbed a hold of Gwen by the neck, lifting her off the ground. His fingers tightened around her throat, her flesh melting away under his firm grasp. Gwen cried out in pain as his touch seared her skin, burning through it, acrid smelling smoke rising into the air as the bones in her neck were exposed.

"Let her go," Rowan pleaded as Gwen helplessly looked to him. "Said I'd get your damn amulet, just let her go."

"What part of I don't except failure aren't you understanding?" Lucifer squeezed his fingers together even tighter, the bones in her neck snapping and crackling loudly as her skin continued to burn away. Gwen's head lolled to the side, hanging grotesquely on thin sinewy treads before it snapped off and fell to the ground with a dull thud. Lucifer smiled as he let go of her body and it fell to the ground in a heap. "Do I now make myself clear?"

Rowan looked to Gwen's lifeless form and then to Lucifer, careful not to let any of the pain he was feeling inside show through as he knew it would be used against him, and uttered, "Crystal."

"Good, now you will get me that amulet. And I'd rather have it sooner than later."

"And the child?" Rowan asked, lowering his gaze once more to Gwen.

"He stays with you for now," Lucifer said after a moment's thought. "But I warn you, fail me again, try to double cross me . . . and there will be no place you can hide from me." He jabbed his index finger into Rowan's chest, searing his flesh as his shirt caught fire from the single touch. "And you will leave Dean Winchester alive for me to take care of, understand? Been waiting a long time to rid myself of him, and I don't plan on sharing that pleasure with anyone."

"Yeah, I understand, but why didn't you just kill him off long before now?"

Lucifer chuckled at the confusion clearly evident on the vampire's face. "Angels always watching over his shoulder. Always walking away from life threatening injuries, should've died at least twice along the way. No one's that lucky. Nope, from day one, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael have been watching over him, making sure he lived to fulfill his destiny. While Azazel watched over Sam. Two brothers, two very separate destinies." Lucifer turned his back on Rowan, a wicked smile twisting on his face, knowing the vampire wanted nothing more than to kill him, but wasn't foolish enough to try. "But Azazel failed me, and now he's gone and I'm left to pick up the pieces."

He turned back to stare at Rowan for a moment, a derisive laugh escaping his lips. "Sam was to lead my army, was to be one of my greatest accomplishment as all the world fell to Hell, and I'll be damn to give up on that."

"And how do you plan on going about that?" Rowan asked, and Lucifer could tell by the way he'd shuffled his feet and kept his head lowered, that the man really didn't want an answer to his question.

"I'm already doing it. Set things up perfectly."

"What do ya mean?"

Lucifer hesitated for a moment, enjoying how the taller man squirmed under his watchful gaze, and then replied, "One of the best things about being a twin is that people are so easily fooled into believing one is the other. Course poor Jax will have to die, but I think it's a sacrifice Nick is willing to make for the cause." He chuckled as he strode away from the car, and down the road, calling back over his shoulder, "I'll have Sam right where I want him, and you'll get me the amulet, then I'll bring this damn world to its knees."


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey all, another chappy up!! thanks for reading and for all the great reviews!! please, let me know what you think, i just live for reviews!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eight_

Jax sidled up to a barstool at the Omega Bar and Grill, and eased onto the seat, wincing at the pain the subtle movement caused him. While he understood that Sam was taking out his anger and grief at losing Dean on him, Jax still couldn't help but feel a little pissed off when he glanced in the mirror behind the bar and noticed how bruised and swollen his right cheek was, not to mention the black eye and split lip he now sported.

Not that he wasn't used to bruises and broken bones, they'd always been a part of his life, but he had hoped that just for once someone wouldn't see him as their own personal anger management punching dummy. For some unexplainable reason, he'd thought Sam would be different, but he was the same as all the rest. And if he'd gotten nothing else out of his training lessons with Sam, at least he'd learned that much.

If Sam hadn't reminded him so much of Nick, he knew he wouldn't have let his guard down, and now regretted it. It was a mistake he wouldn't make again.

His thoughts turned to his brother, and sadly wondered if what Sam had said was true. He hadn't seen or heard a word from Nick since the night his uncle had died which wasn't like his brother at all. Up until the day he'd received the call from Nick about their uncle's murder, Nick had visited him in jail every chance he could and had talked to him on the phone at least once a week. Now months had passed without a single word, and Jax was quickly losing hope that he would ever find out what really happened to Nick.

Jax was brought out of his painful musings as he heard someone clear his throat. Glancing up at the menacing tower of a man standing behind the bar, he couldn't help but feel as if the man looked more like a brawny bouncer than a bartender. The man looked Jax up and down as if sizing up his worth, and then smiled, crystal clear blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the room.

"What'll ya have?" he asked as he wiped out the glass in his hand with a towel, then set it down in front of Jax.

Jax took a quick glance at the man's name tag, then at all the bottles of alcohol lined up in rows at the back of the bar. "A shot of whatever will kill the pain the fastest, an' just keep 'um comin' til I either pass out or you have to kick my sorry ass outta here, Gabriel."

Gabriel pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf, poured it into his glass, and set the bottle down on the counter. Jax quickly downed the fiery liquid, grimacing a little as it burned his throat. Setting the glass down, he motioned for another.

"Care to talk about what's eatin' you up inside?" Gabriel asked as he poured him another drink. "You know, that whole bartender, great listener thing." He rolled his eyes as he placed the bottle back down. "Guess they think the more you talk the more you'll drink."

"Nothin' ta talk about," Jax replied as he hastily finished off his second glass. "Nothin' worth talkin' about."

Scrubbing his large hand across his face, Gabriel then leaned over the counter, resting his forearms on the surface. "Everyone has a story they want to tell . . . you could always start by tellin' me who beat the crap out of you and why."

"If I told ya, you'd never believe me." Jax gestured for another shot, and when Gabriel failed to respond to it, he grabbed the bottle and poured himself another. Quickly polishing off his third drink, Jax slammed the glass down hard on the bar, and eyed the man standing before him. For some inexplicable reason, when he looked into the older man's eyes, Jax had the feeling he would understand. Knew he wouldn't judge him for all his past mistakes.

"This," he gestured in a circular motion around his own face, "this is what ya get, if ya try an' be friends with a Winchester . . . so, if ya ever run across one of them, an' God forbid if ya do, an' they say they'll train ya . . . run the other way at all costs."

Gabriel chuckled. "So these Winchester's aren't easy to get along with?"

"Well, I'm thinkin' there's only one of 'um left . . . demons got the other . . . think Sam shot his dad . . . who knows."

"Sam." Gabriel was silent for a moment after he said the name as if in thought, then added, "An' he's the one who is training you?"

"Trainin'?" Jax let out a short derisive snort. "More like kickin' my ass every chance he gets, an' tellin' me what a worthless hunter I'll be."

"Then why do it?"

"I'd do anythin' if it meant I could help my brother," a sad frown settled on his features as he gestured once again to all the bruises on his face, "an' this . . . this doesn't really hurt . . . had worse."

"Yeah, I understand that," Gabriel said in such a way as to leave Jax feeling as if the man really did know all he'd been through in his life.

"An' I know he's hurtin', an' probably doesn't mean ta take it out on me . . . but I'm hurtin' too. . . . " Jax swallowed hard, thinking of Nick and if he had died like Sam had said, what was there left for him in the world. "I jus' need ta believe he's alive, ya know. Ain't got nothin' left ta live for if he's dead."

Gabriel nodded in understanding as he poured Jax another shot. "Maybe you have more to live for than what you think. Maybe everything you have suffered has been in preparation for something bigger than you could've ever possibly imagined."

Jax swallowed down his drink, his throat now numb to the burning liquid, and set the glass aside. "What would you know of it? Betcha yer uncle was never killed by demons . . . demons," he let out a cynical laugh at how absurd that sounded, "an' I'll betcha you never watched as yer father repeatedly beat yer mother an' when she died turned tha' rage on you. Demons don't only live in Hell, Gabriel, sometimes they live in the same house as you. Sometimes they hurt ya so badly ya wish ya were dead."

Taking a slow ragged breath, Jax rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "An' it never comes . . . never ends, jus' gets worse. Then yer father dies, an' whatever relief ya might feel is quickly taken from ya as the real nightmare begins. Two years . . . two freakin' years of bein' beatin' and broken in every imaginable way . . . so don't stand here an' spout off about somethin' bigger cause the way I see it, there's nothin' out there for me."

Gabriel was silent for the longest time as he apparently mulled over what Jax had said. And although he hadn't gone into great detail over all the relentless torture he'd suffered while in his father's care and while he was in prison, Jax could tell the man understood and didn't condemn or find him to be weak and pathetic for all he'd endured.

"An' the meek shall inherit the earth," was all Gabriel said as he looked beyond Jax to the person who had just walked in the door of the bar. Grabbing the bottle off the counter, he poured him one more glass, then turned his back on Jax, and put it back on the shelf. Then he headed toward another couple sitting at the far end of the bar to help them.

Sam took a seat beside Jax, grimacing when the younger man turned to look at him, and he noticed all the damage he'd inflicted in his anger. To say he hadn't realized what he was doing at the time would've been a lie, and couldn't even begin to think of how he should apologize for what he'd done. If he had been Dean, he would've understood. But Jax wasn't Dean, no matter how much he might've reminded him of his brother.

"Probably should put some ice on your face to help the swelling go down," he said, in a pathetic attempt at making conversation.

"Ya think?" Jax rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his drink. "I'll keep tha' in mind fer the next time."

"Look, I'm tryin' to apologize here. Not very good at it, but I'm tryin'."

"Got no worries there, Sam," Jax leaned in closer to Sam, squinted to get a better look at him, then chuckled, "don't think anyone'll ever accuse ya of bein' good at it."

Smelling the strong scent of alcohol on the younger man's breath, and seeing how he had trouble staying steady in his seat, Sam realized there was no sense in trying to argue the point with him. "What I said before about your brother being dead . . . I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, ya did. But fer what it's worth, not ready ta give up on him yet."

Sam nodded in understanding, knowing exactly how Jax felt as he had spent the last year of his life trying to save Dean. "Not askin' you to."

Jax was quiet for a long time as he kept his gaze averted from Sam, and then finally uttered, "Ya think I'm stupid don't ya, Sam . . . think I'm jus' wastin' my time thinkin' he could be alive?"

"Not gonna lie to you, Jax," Sam stoically replied, "think if he was alive you would have heard something from him by now."

Giving a curt nod, Jax wiped the moisture from his eyes, and swallowed down the rest of his drink. "An' if he is alive?"

"Like I said before, the only reason they would keep him alive is if they were possessing him."

"Sam . . . ." Jax's voice trailed off as he scrubbed his hand across his face, more tears welling in his eyes. "Can't kill my own brother . . . jus' can't do it."

"I know, Jax . . . believe me, I know."

The words Jax had just spoken echoed in Sam's mind, but it was as if Dean were saying them. And in fact, it hadn't been that long ago when Dean had said nearly the same thing to him. So how could he possibly make the younger man realize that the only way to save his brother might be to kill him when Sam didn't understand it himself?

"If that time ever comes . . . if we can't find a way to save Nick," Sam hesitated, drawing in a calming breath, although he felt anything but relaxed at the thought of killing Jax's brother, "I'll do it. But, I swear before it comes to that, I'll do my damnedest to protect both you and him."

"No," Jax slowly shook his head, "if it comes to that, you have ta promise me . . . swear ta me that you'll — make me do it." He was silent for a moment as he gathered the strength and courage to continue. "It has to be me."

"Jax — " Sam tried to argue, tried to dissuade him from the notion that he could actually harm his own brother if it came down to it, but Jax cut him off.

"Nick wouldn't want to live like that . . . after what happened to my Dad . . . what he did to him, it tore him apart inside. An' he'd want it ta be me . . . would need it ta be me. You have ta understand that." Jax looked him in the eyes, and for a split second, Sam was sure he would take it all back, would say he couldn't do it. But Jax squared his shoulders, gave Sam a weak smile, and in a voice that was faintly above a whisper murmured, "Promise me."

After a long pause where Sam thought of every possible way to change Jax's mind, he finally conceded knowing exactly how the younger man felt. "I give you my word."


	9. Chapter 9

So, another chapter posted, hope everyone is enjoying the story so far!! tanks for reading and for all the really great reviews, i do live for them!! bambers;)

"You plan on ever actually hitting anythin' or is your goal just to keep shooting the air?" Bobby grumbled as he looked first to the target Jax had just barely missed, and then to Jax.

Without a word, Sam strode over to the targets he'd set up, and moved them all closer. He turned and headed back over to where Bobby was standing, and stood legs slightly apart, arms crossed. "Try again," was all he said, but Jax could hear the unmistakable sound of disappointment in his voice.

Jax swiped the sweat from his forehead, and took aim again. Keeping his sights on the stupid tin can twenty feet away, he released a slow breath and squeezed the trigger, his eyes closing at the last moment as the gun blast echoed through the quiet calm of the morning. First opening one eye to see if he'd come any closer to the target, he then opened the other as he heard Bobby groan.

"Again," Sam ordered, in a no-nonsense tone. "Relax your stance, you're too tense. Slow measured breaths."

"An' try keepin' yer eyes open this time, might actually hit somethin'." Bobby chuckled.

"Bobby, you're not helping." Sam narrowed his hazel eyes on the older hunter.

Taking aim once again, Jax consciously slowed his breathing, his sights solely on the target in front of him. His arm jerked backward as he fired, and he glared at the can that stood there mocking him. "Can't do this." He threw the gun down in aggravation, and was about to storm to Bobby's house when Sam's voice drew him back.

"You want to be a hunter, you're gonna stand here until you hit that damn target every time without exception." Sam stalked to him, and pointed at the gun laying in the dirt. "Now pick up the freakin' gun and try again."

Grudgingly, Jax bent and snatched up the gun. Nudging his head in Bobby's direction, he grumbled, "Least you could do is have smiley over there leave, probably would hit it every time if he wasn't around."

"Forget he's here, forget everything that is going on around you, and just concentrate on hitting the mark." Sam stood behind Jax, kicked the younger man's legs out a little further to adjust his stance, and then repositioned Jax's arms. He leaned in, resting his stomach against Jax's back as he held onto either of Jax's arms and lowered them slightly. "When you're hunting, there's so much going on around you, noise coming at you from everywhere and nowhere all at once, if you can't drowned that out, you aren't gonna make it." Sam stepped back.

Jax evened out his breathing, retrained his sights on the target, and squeezed the trigger. A broad smile lit across his features as the bullet hit the can dead on and sent it flying through the air. Turning on Bobby, his grin widened. "Ha, take that old man. Hit that sucker dead center."

"One good shot doesn't make you a hunter," Bobby was quick to deflate Jax's ego, "Sam could shoot a target from at least twice that distance when he was like seven."

"Good for Sam," Jax's smile faltered as he muttered under his breath, "probably pictured you as the target."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Jax had never been so exhausted in his entire life. Day in and day out for the past week, every spare second was taken up with training. Every time he thought Sam would let up a bit and give him a break, the older man would come up with some new way to torture his sore and bruised body. If Sam wasn't kicking his ass in hand to hand combat, he was having him run ungodly long distances to build endurance.

He'd taken turns learning how to shoot different types of guns and found the shotgun to be the easiest although it also had the harshest kick to it. After a day of firing the weapon repeatedly, his shoulder ached so viciously that he'd been forced to spend the night with an ice pack on it.

Then there was what Sam liked to call sneak attacks, which occurred without any given warning, day or night. Jax hated sneak attacks, especially when they came at forty-thirty in the morning when he was sound a sleep. Nothing worse than being thrown out of bed, and having to try and defend himself against whatever Sam threw at him. More often than not, Jax would end up in a bloodied tangled mess on the floor. Jax was quickly learning that to be a hunter meant sleeping with one eye open.

Today Sam had told Jax he was going to teach him how to fight using knives. And if he'd thought for just a moment that Sam would go easy on him because he didn't know what he was doing, he soon found out he was sorely mistaken.

"Never take your eyes off your opponent, Jax," Sam warned as they circled, both wielding sharpened blades, "let your guard down for even a second, and it could be the very last mistake you ever make." He'd barely gotten the words out before he attacked without warning. Jax was on the ground before he even knew what was happening with Sam's blade held firmly against his throat.

Jax lay there, his aching back screaming with pain, jagged rocks digging into his skin. "Need a break, Sam, I'm exhausted . . . an' in a helluva lot of pain, there ain't one part of my body that ain't covered in bruises, I checked."

"Get up," Sam ordered, his tone brooking no argument as he held out his hand to help Jax to his feet. "Demons aren't gonna care if you're in pain. They know you're hurt, they'll attack you more viciously . . . now get your ass off the ground and fight."

Slowly Jax made his way to his feet, gripping firmly onto his weapon. But within a few moments he was on his back again as he'd momentarily lost his concentration when he'd heard Bobby come out of the house.

"Always be aware of what's going on around you," Sam grabbed hold of his hand and helped him up, "but you can't let it distract you to the point that your opponent gains the upper hand."

Back on his feet, Jax resumed his stance, waiting for Sam to attack."Good to know, Mr. Miyagi, we gonna learn wax on wax off next?" Jax mimicked waxing polish on a car in slow clockwise circles then waxing it off in a counterclockwise motion, a slight smirk settling on his features.

Again and again the older hunter came at him. Sam never seemed to tire, agile and lithe on his feet, he'd disarmed Jax of his weapon with the simplest of ease. And more times than not, Jax would end up on his back with the grating sound of Bobby chuckling in the background.

Aggravated and feeling more than a little foolish, Jax leapt to his feet and charged Sam, catching him off guard for the briefest of moments, but it was enough. In his anger, Jax brought his blade down across Sam's arm and sliced it open. Momentary shock had registered on Sam's face before he deftly caught Jax's wrist twisted it backward and brought his elbow down hard on Jax's forearm, relieving him of his weapon. With a wide sweeping motion, Sam slammed his leg into the back of Jax's knees, buckling them and knocking his legs out from underneath him, and he dropped to the gravel again.

"You know what, I'm done for the day," Jax winced as he slowly got to his feet once more. "Can barely move."

"We're not done," Sam was quick to counter, "resume your stance."

"Said I was finished, you're bleedin' an' there's a steamin' hot shower inside with my name written all over it." Jax grinned. "An' maybe after that, if I get lucky, I might even find a few good porn sites on your laptop."

"If you aren't gonna take this seriously, you can just pack your things and get the hell outta here right now," Sam replied, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "Not gonna be responsible for you getting yourself killed."

"I'm tryin' here, Sam, I really am," Jax replied heatedly, "you just never let up, not for a second." Heaving an exasperated groan, he further added, "I'm tired an' sore as hell, so forgive me if I'm tryin' to make havin' the shit kicked out of me every waking moment, an' sleepin' moment for that matter, a little more bearable." He glanced in Sam's direction, attempting to gage what the older man was thinking, but unlike his brother Nick who Jax could always read, Sam's expression was inscrutable. "Thought we could at least be friends."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and then shook his head. "Not looking to make any new friends, Jax." He narrowed his eyes on Jax. "An' as for trying . . . you aren't trying hard enough. You can't shoot worth a shit, can barely defend yourself in hand to hand combat, an' you broke Bobby's crossbow, not an easy thing to do, mind you . . . so don't tell me you're tryin' cause from where I'm standing, it looks more like you're failing to me."

"Fine," Jax said with a curt nod, more hurt by Sam's scathing comments than by all the bruises he'd received from the hunter in the past week, but was bound and determined that Sam would never know it. "You don't want to be friends, whatever." He took a step closer to the taller man, and looked him dead in the eyes. "An' as for training, I can take whatever the hell you throw at me, so give it yer best freakin' shot. I'm not walking away . . . not gonna give up just cause that's what you want me to do."

When Sam remained silent for several long moments, Jax took a back step, and further added, "Look, I get it. Yer hurtin' cause of what happened to Dean, I understand that. An' if it makes ya feel better, hate me, I don't care . . . hell, hate the whole freakin' world for that matter. But don't stand here blaming me for what he did, he gave up, not me."

"That'll be enough," Bobby quickly came to Sam's defense, "you have no idea what yer freakin' talkin' about, so shut the hell up."

Jax swung to glare at Bobby. "No, it's the freakin' truth. You know it. Sam knows it. An' it's hard to live in this house an' not know it. Dean made a deal, an' I'm sorry as hell that he did, but both of you seem to want to blame me for that . . . put the freakin' blame where it belongs."

"Never said I blamed you for anything," Bobby defended.

"Oh, no?" Jax crossed his arms, and looked defiantly at the older man. "Heard you tell Sam that I was way too much like Dean when he was younger . . . reminded you too much of him, an' you think I'm gonna get Sam killed cause I was too damn reckless." Brusquely raking his fingers through his tousled hair, Jax looked from Bobby to Sam and then back again. "Look, I'm not Dean, an' I'm not tryin' to be. I'm just here to learn to fight these evil sons of bitches so I can save my brother from them, so if you both wanna hate me for that then I'm okay with it."

"Huh, would say yer more like Dean than you could ever possibly even begin to imagine as that was what led him to make a deal in the first place." Bobby turned on his heel and head toward the house, calling back over his shoulder, "Wantin' to protect him is just a step away from makin' a deal to save him, remember that."

Jax watched the old hunter's retreating form, and then turned to stare at Sam. "You want me to leave?" he asked as he saw the overwhelming look of sadness in the man's hazel eyes. "Never meant to cause either of you any more pain. I'll find someone else to help me if you want."

"No, want you to stay." Scrubbing his hand across his face, Sam cast a sidelong glance at the Impala, and the looked back to Jax. "Promise me one thing though."

"Yeah, sure. What?"

"You don't make deals. Not now . . . not ever," Sam vehemently replied, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't care if your brother is dying or dead . . . if he is, you let him go. You hear me? You let him go."

"I won't, I swear I won't."

"Good. There are worse things than dying." With head hung low, Sam headed to the Impala and got in, leaving Jax to just stand there and stare after him as he drove away.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry, actually forgot about posting this story after Fanfic went down a week or so ago...Christmas has fired my brain completely!! thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Ten_

Rowan had been following Dean for the better part of two days, and so far wasn't all that impressed with the hunter turned Guardian. From a distance he'd watched the man search for Joshua and him in all the usual places a vampire might make its nest, and had to laugh at his ineptitude. Maybe a lesser vampire would have made his home in some rundown barn or hold up in a shack somewhere, but Rowan was a creature of comfort, and as he came from very old money, that had never been a problem.

It also surprised Rowan a little that Dean, for all his years of hunting, didn't realize he was being followed. He surmised that the hunter might be at a total loss without his younger brother to help him as Lucifer had already told him that Sam was definitely the smarter of the two Winchesters. But even still, Rowan figured at some point sheer hunter instinct would kick in, and knew he would have to make his move soon while he held the upper hand.

With that in mind, he decided the best time to make his move was while Dean was a sleep, although he was quickly learning that the hunter could go on very little or no rest at all. But he knew eventually even Dean would tire, and when he did, Rowan would be there.

On the third night, Rowan was rewarded for his efforts when Dean checked into an out of the way motel for the night. From where he sat watching, Rowan could see how bone weary the man was, could hear him heave a tired yawn, could smell his blood as it pulsed through his veins.

Sharpened fangs pierced through his gums, the taste of his own blood in his mouth whetting his appetite for more, but Rowan had long ago learned to control his hunger. As his brethren had died away, pitiful in their needs, his restraint had kept him alive, had made him a more powerful adversary. It was one of the reasons Lucifer had trusted in him to watch over Joshua, and Rowan had to smile at how foolish the demon had been in underestimating him.

And it had been a mistake on Lucifer's part to kill Gwen, to take her from Rowan as if by that one brutal gesture, Lucifer could ensure Rowan's complete compliance out of fear that the same would happen to him. Fear was for those of weaker minds, for those who feared death, and Rowan didn't count himself among them.

Lucifer had unwittingly given Rowan one very important piece of insight, one Rowan couldn't help but revel in. The demon needed the amulet, and if Lucifer thought for one moment that Rowan would actually give it to him, the demon's brains were more fried from the fires of Hell than he'd first thought.

Rowan was pulled from his thoughts as he saw the light go out in Dean's motel room, and knew it wouldn't be long before he was asleep. He waited and listen, hearing the man's heartbeat slow, and knew the moment he'd been waiting for was now upon him. Taking one last look around, Rowan slipped soundlessly from the vehicle.

Stealthily he crept toward the door, and once there, he easily picked the lock, careful not to make a sound that would alert his prey. The door opened with the subtlest of creaks, and he paused momentarily to make sure Dean hadn't heard it. When he saw no movement coming from anywhere inside, he grinned and walked inside, assured of his imminent victory over his enemy.

Cautiously, as not to wake him, Rowan approached the man buried beneath a bundle of covers. He'd almost made it to the bed, when he heard a whizzing noise sliced through the silence of the room. He swung abruptly, and saw Dean standing there holding a crossbow, just before the sharpened arrow struck him in the shoulder.

"Dead man's blood." Dean smirked as he gestured toward the arrow.

Rowan glanced down at the arrow lodged deep in the flesh between his heart and shoulder, and the grin slid from his face as he felt poisoned blood surging through his veins. Vainly he struggled in a weak attempt to remove the offending arrow, to no avail.

Another arrow hissed through the air, striking Rowan in the other shoulder, soon followed by another to his stomach. Stumbling, he fell backward onto the bed, and before he could manage to right himself, Dean attacked, slamming his fists into Rowan's face repeatedly.

Dean gripped hold of the arrow protruding from Rowan's chest, and slowly pushed it downward, feeling the vampire squirm beneath him, as a muffled cry escaped his pale lips. "Tell me where Joshua is."

"Not as dumb as they said you were," Rowan groaned in response, "how long have you known I was following you?"

"Three days," at Rowan's look of surprise, Dean added, "learned from the best. Now where's Joshua?"

"An' if I don't tell you?" Rowan grimaced again as Dean plunged the arrow deeper into his flesh.

"Then you'll die."

Rowan laughed derisively. "Figure you'll kill me anyway, so really no point in telling you." He was silent for a moment as he glared up at Dean, and then further stated, "But, then again, if you do, Joshua dies as well. My family is just looking for a reason to finish him off. Give them that reason, Dean . . . would love to see you explain that one to Michael."

Dean backed slightly away, his grip still held firm on the bolt of the arrow. He knew Rowan was right, knew he couldn't kill him without first finding out where he was keeping Joshua. "Give me Joshua and I'll let you live."

Eying him for a moment, Rowan smoothly countered, "Give me your amulet, and I'll make sure the boy is delivered to you unharmed."

"What part of what I said sounded like I was up for negotiations?" Narrowing his gaze on the vampire, Dean unsheathed the knife holstered at his side, and slowly dragged the blade along Rowan's throat. "I don't negotiate." As he said this, he pressed down on the hilt, the blade slicing deeper into the vampire's neck.

"See, I'd rethink that if I were you," Rowan chuckled, even as Dean cut deeper into his flesh, "I know things . . . things you'd definitely want to know. Things your angel friend failed to tell you about your brother. Sam's his name, right?"

Dean's grip on his knife instantly slackened at the mention of his brother's name. "What about my brother?"

"Think Azazel and his pathetic army were the only ones interested in Sam? Aww . . . you did. You probably still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny too." At Dean's look of confusion, Rowan let out a short barking laugh. "Think they'd just let you walk away from Hell without having some sort of plan to turn it to their favor?"

A chill of fear ran up the length of Dean's spine at the thought of Sam alone and unprotected if what Rowan had said was true. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

"I'm talking about a war, Dean . . . one that has spanned all the generations. Angels and demons, using people as their pathetic little pawns. But every once in a while they deem one of those people special." Rowan drew in a shallow breath, wincing as he tried to move his shoulder, but found it too painful to do so. "However, never before have there been two of them at any one given time . . . that is until now."

"Sam and Joshua," Dean muttered more to himself then to Rowan.

"Exactly. Why else do you think they would make sure you had no contact with Sam for the entire time you were with Joshua? No one to protect Sam, no one to keep what's coming for him at bay."

Dean shook his head, refusing to believe that Michael would allow him to make a deal that put his brother's life in jeopardy. "No, that's not true. Michael would never — "

"Never allow it?" Rowan cut him off, finishing his sentence with a sardonic chuckle. "To get his Guardian back from Hell, he would. Joshua is their golden child . . . the boy who is supposed to bring hope to this forsaken world. Think they wouldn't throw you or your brother to the wolves to protect him?"

"I can protect my brother from whatever is after him," Dean staunchly replied, not liking the doubts Rowan was raising inside him.

"How, Dean?" Rowan quirked a bemused brow as he stared at Dean. "He sees you, and you go straight to Hell. Not gonna be much help to him from there, that I can assure you." He was quiet for a moment as if gaging Dean's reaction to what he'd just said, and then added, "The best you can do is to watch from a distance as your brother falls to their mercy, unless . . . ." his voice trailed off as he eyed Dean once more.

Dean hated to admit Rowan was right, but couldn't deny it. The deal he'd made with Michael meant he could do nothing more than stand on the sidelines as Sam tried to fend off whatever demons came after him. And what was more, Dean wondered how hard Sam would even try to protect himself against them because he thought Dean was dead. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that what he'd believed to be a good deal was purely orchestrated to benefit whatever demon was after Sam.

"Unless what?"

"Unless I choose to help you. Watch over him, make sure the Big Bad doesn't get him."

"Not letting some blood sucker near my brother," Dean shook his head, his grip tightening on the hilt of the blade pressed against Rowan's neck.

"Got no interest in making a meal out of him, if that's what you're thinking." Rowan grinned as Dean dug the blade further into his neck, blood dripping down to mingle with the blue and purple wild flowers on the bed's comforter. "This is purely about revenge," he managed to choke out, "Lucifer took Gwen from me now I get to return the favor."

"Lucifer?" Dean said, his heart rapidly sinking into the pit of his stomach. The knife slipped from his grasp to land soundlessly on the bed. Two deals made, both leaving his brother alone and unprotected, and never once had he really given thought to what that had meant until now. All that he'd cared about was that Sam was alive, and he'd gladly traded his soul for that. But what good was it to be alive if Sam could never feel safe?

If Lucifer was truly after Sam, he knew his brother's fate was sealed. He would die or would succumb to the demon. And in the end, Dean sadly realized that he's saved Sam just so he could feel the pain of dying all over again. What was worse was that he'd made his little brother suffer for the past year, had forced Sam to accept the deal that he'd made, and it had made no difference at all.

"So how about it, Dean?" Rowan's taunting voice broke through Dean's tortured thoughts, "I watch over Sam, make sure Lucifer doesn't harm him in any way, and in return all I ask for is at the end of the six months you give me the amulet. You will have done your job as a Guardian, and no one ever has to know about it."

Dean was silence for the longest time as he tried to figure out another way to help Sam and still keep his deal with Michael, but couldn't find and answer. Yet, he was still reluctant to deal with Rowan who he knew couldn't be trusted to keep his word. "Bring me Joshua, and I'll think about it."

Rowan gave a curt nod. "Fair enough, but don't try and double cross me, Dean. Would really hate to think what would happen to Sam if you did."


	11. Chapter 11

_thanks so to everyone for reading and reviewing!! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eleven_

Jax shrugged out of his grungy flannel shirt, wincing with every movement. He hadn't been lying when he told Sam every inch of his body was covered in bruises. Deep purplish welts covered his entire chest and abdomen, and as he looked over his shoulder into the mirror in the bathroom, he saw that his back looked the same.

With one last look at his bruised back, Jax returned his attention to taking a hot shower. His thoughts went instantly to the wide leather band he always wore around his right wrist, a deep frown creasing his brow. He hated to remove it, hated what it reminded him of, but knew he couldn't wear it in the shower. Unsnapping the two silver buttons, he threw the band on the counter and glanced down at the raised scars that ran vertically down the length of his wrist.

It had been a moment of weakness on his part, a moment when the world had come crumbling down around him, and he just didn't have the strength or the will to pick himself back up again. He remembered how cold the blade had felt as it sliced through his wrist, and could distinctly recall the sound of his own blood dripping to the tile floor in the bathroom of his family's house.

And then Nick was there telling him everything would be okay as he hurriedly bandaged Jax's wrist. He'd made a promise to Jax that day, had said that even if everyone else left him behind, he would always be there for him. Brothers till the very end, but now he'd broken that promise.

But whatever part of him that was relieved that his brother had saved his life, there was always that bigger part of him that just wanted it all to end. He hid that part of himself from Nick and from the world, buried it so deep behind a smile and a cocky attitude. Yet as time dragged on jail and his father's abuse wore down his defenses, broke him even more than he already was. And he couldn't recall a time when he woke in the morning without wishing that he hadn't, and wondered if anyone else ever felt the same as he did. However Jax was bound and determined that Sam would never know that, if he did he would see how pathetic Jax truly was, and for some strange reason Sam's opinion of him really mattered.

Stepping into the steaming shower, he groaned as the hot water sprayed against the abrasions left behind from all his earlier encounters with the gravel. After a few moments the pain died away to a dull ache, and he relaxed allowing the heat to slowly massage away all the kinks in his sore muscles.

As the water started to cool, Jax lathered up the soap and scrubbed the dirt from his face, muscular arms, chest and taut abs. Lathering the soap again, he finished washing and rinsed off. Jax grabbed the bottle of shampoo off the ledge, poured some in his hand and scrubbed it through his hair. He stood under the water, and let it wash down over him, then turned off the faucet.

Grabbing for a towel, Jax quickly dried off, got out of the shower and changed into clean clothes. He left the bathroom to see if Sam had come home yet, but found only Bobby sitting at the small kitchen table.

Although Bobby pretended not to notice him as he made his way over to the coffee pot and poured himself a drink, Jax could feel the weight of the older man's stare on his back. Jax sat on the opposite side of the table from him, and took a long swig of the steaming liquid, grimacing at the taste of it.

"Hope no one ever told you that you make good coffee cause this stuff is god awful," Jax pushed the cup away from himself, "think yer supposed actually add water ta the grounds, makes them less like sludge." The chuckle that bubbled in the back of his throat, died on his lips when Bobby scowled at him. "So, not a big fan of the whole being friendly to guests in yer house thing, I take it."

Bobby gave him a quick look, then lowered the brim of his baseball cap over his forehead, and returned to drinking his coffee.

"Guess I'll take that as a no then." Jax cleared his throat and tapped his fingers on the wooden surface of the table as he glanced in the direction of the door, praying Sam would come home so he wouldn't have to deal with the older man. When Sam didn't magically appear to rescue him from actually having to spend time alone with the man, Jax turned back, a fake smile plastered to his face. "So, ya like fixin' cars?" he hitched a thumb back toward the front of the house. "Pretty good at it myself, do all the work on my car."

Looking up at him for a second, Bobby gave an audible grunt, and then lowered his gaze again. Undeterred, Jax tried again, "She's a 69' Camaro 396," he hesitated feeling foolish at having mentioned what kind of car he owned to a man who fixed cars for a living. "Course you probably already knew that. But she's real fast," he smiled, thinking of how he'd outrun more than one police officer in his car, "an' she's the only thing I've ever owned that was all mine." Jax lowered his head, knowing the man who sat across from him thought he was nothing more than a useless criminal. "Didn't steal the car, if that's what yer thinkin'. It was my Dad's."

"Never said ya did," Bobby gruffly responded, and went back to sipping his coffee.

"Stole this t-shirt though," Jax said, tugging at his collar, angered by Bobby's total disregard of his attempt to make conversation. "An' these jeans . . . an' the boxers, yep, you guessed it, they're stolen too." When Bobby failed to say anything, Jax finally blurted out, "Why the hell do you hate me so much? Been bendin' over backwards here tryin' ta be nice ta ya, so would it really kill ya ta just try an' give me more than a grunted response?"

"Don't hate ya." Bobby looked him square in the eyes, and held his gaze for a few moments before lowering his head. "It's just that . . . ." his voice trailed of as he took another sip of his coffee.

"It's just what?"Jax threw up his hands in frustration. "Said I was sorry for breakin' yer crossbow."

"Not worried about the damn crossbow."

"Then what?"

Bobby was quiet for so long, Jax was beginning to think he wouldn't answer, but then finally he muttered, "Sam. I see him pourin' everything he's got into ya. Workin' ya harder than his father ever worked either of the boys . . . an' I think yer gonna get him killed cause ya just don't have it in ya to be a hunter. An' as he's the only family I got left, I'm really hopin' you'll prove me wrong."

Jax nodded in understanding. He knew so far he was failing to prove himself to be anything more than what Bobby thought of him. But to be fair, it had only been one week, and he was almost certain not even Sam was great at everything he did after only one week of learning it.

"I can be a damn good hunter, Bobby. You just have ta give me a chance, don't intend on lettin' Sam get hurt cause of me."

Leaning back in his chair, Bobby crossed his arms and looked long and hard at Jax. "Rather see ya walk away from this right now. You have no idea what yer gettin' yerself into. An' Sam," he slowly shook his head, "he can't protect ya from everything. He'll try, it's what he does . . . what his brother did, but in the end you'll both end up dead."

"Not gonna walk away," Jax scrubbed his hand across his stubbled jaw, looking around the room and then up at the ceiling with the Sign of Solomon marked on it, then turned back to stare at Bobby, "my brother's out there somewhere . . . he ain't dead. An' he wouldn't give up on me, so don't ask me ta give up on him. I won't do it." Jax thought the older man would argue, would call him foolish for believing his brother could still be alive after such a long time had past, but Bobby just nodded in understanding. "I can do this, Bobby, I can. I'll prove ta ya that I'm not just a screw up."

"Stop tryin' to prove somethin' to us cause that ain't workin' for ya. It's time that ya just concentrate on what Sam's teachin' ya . . . been watchin' him over the past week, an' if anyone can teach ya, it's him." Bobby chuckled to break the tension that had filled the air the moment Jax had taken a seat at the table. "An' if ya break another one of my weapons, I'm gonna have to crack yer skull, got me?"

"We're so not havin' one of those moments, are we Bobby," Jax smirked, "you know the ones where we do a man hug an' then both look away all dewy-eyed cause we'd finally come to an understanding." Jax threw his head back and laughed heartily seeing the stricken expression cross Bobby's features.

"Don't intend on ever huggin' ya," Bobby grumbled as he tipped back his coffee mug and drained the last of the liquid inside, then stood to leave.

"Awww . . . damn, Bobby, that hurts," Jax chuckled even harder, "was really hopin' that before I died I'd get at least one big bear hug from ya." Trying in a vain effort to school his features to look totally serious, he added, "But if ya tried ta kiss me, I'd have ta slug ya a good one cause I love the ladies . . . an' I gotta say, they love me too . . . all of them, it's a curse really. No man should be as good lookin' as me."

"Yep, just like Dean," Bobby muttered under his breath as he walked away. "Go an' find Sam to bug, I have work to do."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

Jax spent the better part of the evening pouring over Bobby's books on demons and other supernatural beings, taking notes on what killed what creature and what amulets and charms could be used as protection again them. He'd also read over John's journal and what Sam and Dean had added to it along the way. To say he'd felt totally inept after reading about all the creatures they's dealt with over the years would definitely have been a mild understatement, and he was starting to have serious doubts that he could actually be a hunter.

Tossing the journal aside, he stood and stretched his sore muscles, trying to work out all the kinks. At the sound of a car going past the salvage yard, Jax strode to the window to see if Sam was back yet. When he saw that it was well-past dark and Sam was still not home, he started to worry.

Although he knew Sam could take care of himself, he recalled their first meeting, and how drunk the older man had been at the time, and knew if he'd been out drinking again he could be in serious trouble. Without the slightest hesitation, Jax grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

He drove all over town searching for any signs of the Impala and finally after about an hour, he spotted it at the Thunderback Tavern. Jax pulled into the parking lot and parked alongside Sam's car, killed the engine and got out. Long determined strides took him to the front entrance in a matter of moments. He was about to enter when a muffled sounding groan reached his ears, and he tilted his head to the side to better hear where it was coming from.

A dark alleyway ran adjacent to the bar, lit only by one street light. He was certain the noise had come from that direction, and headed that way. Another pain-filled groan followed by the sounds of laughter had him stealthily making his way around toward the side of the building. He turned the corner just in time to witness a tall stocky man slam his beefy fist into Sam's stomach as two other men held him upright.

Taking a calming breath, Jax stepped from the shadows and headed straight for the men. So intent on hurting Sam, they barely took notice of Jax until he caught the taller man's hand mid-strike and swung him to face him. Clenching his fist, Jax slammed it forcefully into the man's face. The dark-haired man staggered backward a few paces, and Jax followed, grabbed hold of the man's shoulders, and drove his knee into the man's groin. The man immediately dropped to the ground, moaning and writhing around on the pavement. Not about to leave anything to chance, Jax kicked the downed man squarely in the stomach, assuring that he wouldn't be getting up anytime too soon, then turned his attention to the other two men.

"Learned that one in prison, course if I was still there, he would be dead now, instead of just holding the family jewels," Jax taunted, knowing intimidation went a long way in actually overcoming your adversary. As he sized up the two other men who'd just let go of Sam and were heading for him, he saw them falter briefly in their steps.

Sparing only a single quick glance in Sam's direction, he saw his friend slump to the ground, and knew instinctively that Sam must have been pretty badly hurt. A malicious smirk twisted on his face as he charged the smaller of the two, drove him into the wall of the bar, and slammed his fists into the man's face and stomach repeatedly. Turning slightly, and using the smaller man for leverage, Jax kicked the other man in the stomach, and he stumbled backward, holding his gut.

Another groan escaped Sam's lips and momentarily diverted Jax's attention to him, but it was enough for the man behind him to regain his footing and rush Jax. Jax arched forward as the man's fist connected in a well-placed kidney shot. The wind was knocked from him in a single surge of air.

Not giving Jax a chance to recover, the man swung him around and bashed his fist into Jax's jaw, his head jerking backward with the force of the blow. The smaller man grabbed hold of Jax trapping his arms. Leaning forward, Jax lifted the lighter man off the ground and drove him backward into the wall, smashing himself into him repeatedly until the man finally was forced to let go. Jax turned on him, a chuckle emitting from his parted lips as he yanked his .45 out of his jacket pocket and aimed it directly at the man's forehead, finger on the trigger.

"See, another thing I learned in prison, never fight fair, it's a sure way to die." Jax cautiously took a back step, and gestured for the man to move away from the wall to stand near his friend. Out of the corner of his eye, Jax noticed the man who had punched him in the jaw, edging his way toward him, and swung the gun on him. "Don't think for a moment that I won't kill ya . . . killed my own Dad, and he meant more to me than you ever will."

The man stopped immediately and backed away. His shorter friend slipped past Jax to run out of the alley, leaving his friends behind. "Looks like yer buddy had the right idea," Jax bobbed his head toward the man still on the ground, "get yer friend an' get the hell outta here before I decide ta really hurt ya for what ya did ta my friend."

Jax aimed the gun at the man's heart, and that was all the persuasion he needed to do exactly as Jax had said. Grabbing a hold of his friend, the man hauled him to his feet, and hastily left the alley, with Jax taunting laughter following him.

With them gone, he quickly knelt beside Sam, and checked to make sure he was still breathing, heaving a deep thankful sigh when he found a pulse. "Come on, Sam, ya gotta wake up for me. Who knows if they'll come back, an' I really don't want ta give them time ta realize I'd never actually shoot them."

Gently patting him on the side of the face, he saw one of Sam's eyelids slowly flutter open. His right was swollen shut, and there was a deep gash just above it.

"Dean," Sam mumbled forlornly, looking up at him through only one partially opened eye. "Knew you'd never leave me behind."

"Sam, it's . . . ." Jax's voice trailed off as he saw the almost desperate look in the older man's eyes. If only for a short time, Sam needed to believe Dean was alive, was there to help him when he needed it the most, and Jax just didn't have it in him to deny Sam that. "Yeah, come on, little brother, let's get ya back ta Bobby's."

Jax carefully hauled Sam to his feet, and hooked his arm around the older man's waist, cursing under his breath when Sam let out a low cry of pain. "Just lean on me, Sam, I gotcha."

Struggling under the weight of the taller man, Jax slowly made his way to the Impala, ever-vigilant to make sure the three men didn't return. At the car, Jax leaned Sam up against the car, and searched Sam's pockets for the keys. After a few moments, he yanked them out and carefully helped the injured man into the passenger's seat.

Taking one last look around, Jax noticed a man standing partially hidden in the shadows watching him intently. Although he couldn't see the man's face, Jax had the strangest feeling that he knew him from somewhere, and took a step toward him. The moment he did, the man moved back and disappeared from view.

"Nick?" he shouted, feeling as if it was his brother, but couldn't understand why Nick would be running away from him. "Nick, wait up." The man didn't stop, and Jax was left to wonder if he had been wrong in his assumption.

On instinct Jax followed and caught up with the man briefly before he once again vanished. With one last look around and he headed back to the Impala, not wanting to leave Sam alone and unprotected for any length of time. Still, he was left with nagging doubts that the man he'd seen was his brother, and if it was, why wouldn't he stop? In the end, he decided that it was just the fact that he was so desperate to believe his brother was alive that his imagination was playing tricks on him.

At the car, he noticed a black Chevelle slow to a stop at the opposite side of the road. The man inside the vehicle stared directly at him before looking to Sam for a moment, then his steely gaze returned to Jax. Without thought to his own safety, and not knowing if the man posed a possible threat to Sam or himself, Jax moved to stand in front of the car, shielding Sam from any danger. Narrowing his eyes, Jax tried to get a better look at the man, and saw him nod, then he peeled out and drove away.


	12. Chapter 12

_so, sorry about the delay, no real excuse really as the story is complete, just family life gets in the way sometimes, and i forget to post!! thanks for reading and all the awesome reviews! bambers;)_

_Chapter Eleven_

Dean followed Rowan's instructions to an old manor house outside of town. Hidden from view by a forest of massive oaks and maples, it was the perfect place for a nest of vampires to make their home. The long driveway snaked around, bordered on either side by overgrown brush and bramble, and at times became obscured by it.

As they pulled up the sprawling whitewashed two story structure, Dean was somewhat surprised to see how well-kept the manor home was, and briefly wondered if Rowan had killed the owners and took the home as his own. Two amber lit lanterns adorned either side of the double doors leading inside the dwelling. Wide fanning steps that led up to a wide porch flanked by six ornate columns, gave the house a decidedly country feel. An old wooden porch swing gently rocked back and forth in the cool night's breeze. All-in-all, it was definitely not a home Dean thought he would ever find a vampire living in, and it immediately put him on his guard.

"You kill the people who lived here?" he asked, noticing at least seven cars parked off into the grass, and two more parked beside the detached garage.

"Relax, Dean, been living here since the year 1722 or maybe it was 1723." Rowan chuckled, then winced as he weakly tugged on the arrow still buried in his chest, "An' before that lived somewhere near Romania. Guess you could say I come from the very oldest line of vampires, so stop being so suspicious that I could afford a place like this. It's really quite modest in comparison to the other four homes I own."

"Don't believe you." Dean wielded the knife that he'd held firmly in his grip since the moment they'd gotten in the car together, bringing it up forcefully to Rowan's throat. "A hunter would've gotten you by now."

"Sad to say, not all hunters are a clever as you," Rowan grinned, his brows raising slightly to disappear beneath his shaggy raven-colored bangs, "really not saying much for the intelligence of hunters, is it?"

"Where's Joshua?" Dean glanced up at the house once again, and noticed a woman with long blond curls, standing in the doorway, peering out at them. "An' how many other vamps are in there?"

"As it is nighttime, an' we do most of our nasty little business in these hours, I'm guessin' that just Abigail is around. The rest of the girls are busy." Rowan looked to the woman who stood there waiting for him, winked and gave her a quick rakish grin. "She's not Gwen, but she does suit my purposes." A wicked smile crossed his features as he glanced back at Dean. "Ever thought of having sex with a vampire, Dean?"

"No, I'm kinda old fashioned that way, I prefer the woman I sleep with to be alive."

"Huh, too bad. A woman like Abigail could bring you to the brink of insanity with the things she can do sexually. I mean, what she can do with her tongue alone is enough to make a man scream in ecstasy."

"Naw, you're probably mistaking that with when she rips their throat out."

"Don't knock it until you've tried it, Dean. An' even a vampire has an itch that needs to be scratched sometimes. Can't be all about the kill you know."

"What's the sex for, workin' up an appetite?"

"Something like that." Rowan chuckled.

The sight of headlights, instantly drew Dean's attention to a Mercedes-Benz heading up the driveway. As the vehicle passed them, Dean noticed a middle-aged man in the driver's seat with a beautiful brunette practically sitting on his lap. The man haphazardly parked his car, flung open the door and was out of the car in a shot. The woman slid over in the seat and got of the driver's side, straighten her extremely short cut skirt, and leaned in to kiss the man, pressing her body firmly to his.

As the kiss ended, she turned to look at Rowan, and Dean couldn't help but notice how low cut her white silk blouse was. Licking her full red lips, she smiled, eyes flashing an intense shade of blue as she glanced in Dean's direction. She cast a sideways glance in the man's direction, rubbed her thumb and two fingers together, and Rowan gave a subtle nod.

Cocking a quizzical brow at the odd exchange between the two, Dean looked to Rowan for an explaination. "What's that all about."

"Big spender," Rowan said as if it should be obvious. "Monica is one of my best girls, always brings in the big money."

At first Dean was confused as to what he meant, but as he saw the devilish grin cross Rowan's features full understanding struck him. Brows furrowing into a scowl, Dean blurted out, "She's a — you're a . . . this is a freakin brothel?"

Rowan chuckled at Dean's incredulous look. "Prefer to call it Rowan's house of pleasure."

"Don't care what the hell you wanna call it, not letting her kill that man." Flinging open the car door, Dean grabbed hold of Rowan's hair and yanked him out of the Chevelle.

Rowan stumbled, but Dean caught hold of him and twisted the vampire so his back was to Dean's stomach. Before Rowan could think to react, Dean pressed his blade against the vampire's throat, and called out to the man, "Get back in your freakin' car, and get the hell outta here."

"Rowan?" Monica took several steps toward them, but stopped short when Dean dug deeper into Rowan's flesh, blood trickling down his neck.

"S'okay, Monica, Dean's a bit of a hypocrite, aren't you Dean? If she was one of your precious humans, you wouldn't have cared if this man was here with Monica instead of home with his wife and three little kids, would you?"

"Not gonna stand here and debate this with you," Dean angrily declared, although he knew what Rowan said was the truth. "An' you don't know anything about this man, so don't pretend like you do."

"Name's Ronald Thompson, his wife's Molly. He swindles money from old people who really can't afford to lose their pensions," Rowan countered smoothly, and smiled when Ronald took a backward step, visibly trembling. "An' then there's his really nasty little secret, care to guess what that is, Dean?" When Dean failed to respond, Rowan continued, "Ask him what happened to his business partner," here he hesitated to emphasize his point, "killed him didn't you, Ronald? A swindler who doesn't take kindly to having someone try to swindle him. So, Dean, who would you say is more depraved? Cause from where I'm standing, I have more of a conscience than he'll ever have."

Dean could tell just by looking at Ronald that everything Rowan had said was the truth. But no matter how much the man might have deserved to suffer for what he'd done, it wasn't up to Rowan and his girls to deliver that justice. He bobbed his head toward the Mercedes, and once again shouted at the older man, "Said to get out of here, unless you wanna stay here and die."

It took no more prompting from Dean for Ronald to get back in his car and drive away, tires screeching loudly as he rounded the winding bend in the driveway.

"Proud of yourself, Dean," Rowan taunted, "saved another upstanding citizen. Bet everyone will sleep better tonight knowing Ronald will be around to steal and kill again."

Releasing his hold on Rowan, Dean muttered, "Just take me to Joshua so I can get the hell out of here."

"Whatever," Rowan stalked toward the house, calling back over his shoulder, "betcha it just kills you to know that me and my girls are doing our part to help out humanity."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

Rowan swung to look at Dean, a smirk gracing his features. "Never once have we killed anyone who didn't deserve to die. Sorta like vigilantes. Everywhere we travel, the crime rates decline rapidly in that area. But I guess that would go against everything you believe in, right? Cause we're the only bad guys out there."

"Not up to you to take the law into your own hands."

"Oh, that's right, that would be your job. Deciding what's evil and what's not, no shades of gray are there, Dean?" Without another word, Rowan headed inside his house, and Dean was left with other choice but to follow him.

Inside, Dean was again surprised at how nicely decorated the home was. Decidedly masculine, the living room was painted in a deep rich hues of green with cherry-wood trim. The furniture set around the fireplace all looked to be antique and was in almost pristine condition. Over the mantle a painted portrait of a younger Rowan dressed in old-fashioned clothes with his long black hair neatly tied back, sat nestle between two ornate brass sconces. If this was any indication, then Dean had to assume that Rowan wasn't lying when he said he owned the home.

Rowan led him through the livingroom and dining area to a small room off to the right. Opening the door, Rowan stepped inside, and gestured to the little boy sleeping peacefully on a bed in the far corner.

"There, I kept my word. Joshua, safe and sound, now about our deal?" Rowan looked to Dean, his dark gaze scrutinizing. "I protect your brother from Lucifer, and in the end you give me the amulet?"

"Still thinking about it."

Dean pushed past Rowan, headed for the bed and scooped Joshua up in his arms. As he turned back to face Rowan, he noticed Monica and Abigail standing directly behind the vampire, both eyeing him hungrily. A quick glance around the room told him that the only exit was the one they were blocking, and he mentally kicked himself for trapping himself and Joshua in there with no other way out.

"Chipmunk?" Joshua yawned, and nestled closer to Dean. "Wondered where ya were. Why'd ya leave me?"

"I'm takin' ya outta here, Jay. I wouldn't leave you."

"Think harder, Dean," Rowan interrupted, "I'd hate to have to kill you right now just as we were becoming such good friends." Rowan yanked out the arrows in his chest and stomach with the slightest of ease, a smirking grin on his face. "See, I'm not as stupid as you might've thought either. Dead man's blood," he chuckled ominously, "forgot to mention that it really doesn't effect me like it does other vampires." Several more vampires line up outside the room behind Rowan, Monica and Abigail, all waiting in anticipation of Dean's answer, more than a few of them looking as if they'd hoped he would say no. "So, what's it gonna be? Your amulet or yours and your brother's lives?"


	13. Chapter 13

_so, only one more chappy to go...hope everyone is still enjoying...if you are, the second story, The Weak and the Weary will be posting shortly after this one comes to conclusion...thanks again for reading and reveiwing...bambers;)_

Jax helped Sam into Bobby's house, guided him over to the couch and carefully laid him down on it. In the light cast off from several lamps, he got his first real good look at Sam, and grimaced. Sam's right eye was now totally swollen shut, blood trickling down the side of his face from the gash just above his brow. His left cheek was already turning a deep shade of purple, and his lower lip was split open.

Helping him out of his shirt, Jax saw several more long welts running the length of his side, along with at least three more deep cuts that would more than likely need stitches. Lightly pressing on his fingers against Sam's side, Jax felt Sam jerk to the side as he let out a low moan.

"Sam, I gotta get ya ta a hospital. Probably got a couple of cracked ribs, an' ya really look like shit."

"Wh-where's Dean?" Sam said in a hoarse whisper, and winced as he ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his lower lip. When Jax failed to respond, Sam frantically searched for him, and not finding him, he turned back to look at Jax. "Where'd he go, Jax?"

"Sam, I — "

"He was there . . . saw him beat the crap outta those guys . . . where'd he go?"

Jax thought of the man in the black Chevelle and wondered briefly if it was Dean he'd seen in the car. He quickly cast aside the idea as a foolish notion. If it had been Dean, he wouldn't have driven away knowing Sam had been injured.

"That was me. Came lookin' for ya, and when I saw those guys beatin' on ya, I stepped in."

"You?" Sam asked incredulously, staring at him through his one good eye. "Seen you fight, you're not that good."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jax chuckled, "but seein' as I saved yer sorry ass, maybe yer the one that needs fightin' lessons from me."

The smile faded from Jax's lips when Sam lowered his head. Sudden realization struck him like a thunderbolt. Although Sam smelled of whiskey, he didn't appear all that drunk. And from his week of training with the man, Jax knew if he'd wanted to, Sam could have taken on all those men even if he had been drinking. Sam hadn't fought back, hadn't even tried.

"What are ya tryin' ta get yerself killed, Sam?" Jax accused angrily. "Think that's what Dean would want?"

"Didn't care what I wanted. Just made a damn deal. How the hell am I supposed to live with that?"

Sam struggled to stand, wincing with every movement, but he made it to his feet, and was heading for the front door. Storming after him, Jax caught him by the arm, and swung the older man around to face him, at the moment not caring if Sam was injured.

"Look, he was wrong and he was selfish, and I know that sucks." Jabbing his index finger into Sam's shoulder, Jax looked Sam square in the eyes, and added, "but it doesn't give ya right ta throw away everything he did for ya . . . an' if you were ta be truthful, you'd have done the same damn thing for him. So don't give me this shit about him not carin' what you wanted."

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about, Jax." Sam tried once again to leave, but Jax forcefully pushed him backward. Sam staggered a few steps before righting himself, and glared at Jax. "Get the hell outta my way."

"Yer not goin' anywhere. Yer hurt an' if I have ta, I'll knock yer sorry ass out ta keep ya here." Jax clenched his fists, raising them slightly in an attempt to prove that he would do just as he'd threatened. "Think yer the only one who's cornered the market on havin' an unfair life?" He shook his head in disbelief when Sam continued to glower at him. "My freakin' brother committed murder to save me from my own father. An' I spent the better part of two freakin' years in juvie gettin' my ass kicked around on almost a daily basis ta protect him. So ask me if I would've made a deal ta save his life," Jax jabbed his index finger in the air toward Sam, "cause the answer would've been yes, Sam. In a heartbeat, it would've been yes." He took a step toward the older man, his voice rising in anger, "So, life isn't freakin' fair, who the hell ever said it would be."

"Don't even begin to compare your life with mine, you'd lose."

"Oh, that's right, cause the Winchester's are the only ones who've ever suffered. Think the rest of the world is out havin' some sorta laugh riot party, an' you just failed to get the invite?" Jax turned his back on Sam, a short cynical laugh escaping his lips as he shook his head. "Huh, welcome to the real world, Sam," he swung back to face him, "people die an' are murdered every single day. People do things that they'd never believed they'd have ta do just ta survive. Lie, cheat, steal and beg. They live in gutters an' dark alleyways. An' I can guarantee ya that none of them ever started out life sayin' 'hey, think I'd like ta live in a freakin' cardboard box, swillin' whiskey an' eatin' food outta a garbage can when I grow up'."

"Are you finished," Sam crossed his arms, narrowing his one good eye on Jax. When Jax remained quiet, Sam nudged his head toward the door, "Good, then get the hell outta here, an' don't bother comin' back."

"Huh," was all Jax could think to say, totally dumbfounded hearing Sam tell him to leave. He'd expected him to be angry, expected him to yell, but never expected him to order him to leave Bobby's house.

"Said to leave. Go find your brother or make your deal to save him, but don't come back here again."

"Sam, I . . . ." Jax's voice trailed off as he saw the hateful look in Sam's eyes and knew he would not relent on his decision. "Fine, if that's what you want, I'll go." Without taking the time to gather his few meager possessions, Jax strode to the door, jerked it open and stormed away.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Know what you're thinkin' Bobby," Sam said, and let out a low hiss as Bobby finished stitching the gash on his forehead. "Think I was wrong to have him leave."

"Think he was a good kid who could've used yer help," Bobby muttered as he began to stitch up one of the wounds on Sam's chest. "Think he went searchin' for ya tonight an' probably saved yer life. But, if ya wanted him to leave that's up to you."

"Think he would've made it as a hunter?"

"Doesn't really matter much now, does it?"

Brusquely raking his fingers through his tangle hair, Sam heaved a weary sigh and looked the older man in the eyes. "Didn't mean to ask him to leave . . . just blurted it out an' then it was too late to take it back."

"Then go after him."

Bobby finished with another wound and began stitching up the second cut right below Sam's shoulder. So caught up in his own thoughts, Sam jerked when the needle pierced his skin. "Damn it, Bobby, it hurt less getting that cut than havin' you stitch it up. Gonna have to teach Jax how to do this, couldn't be any worse at it than you."

"So ya are gonna go bring him back then?"

Sam gave a curt nod. "Not sure I like him all that much, but I think he'll make a good hunter, Bobby."

"Yeah, was kinda thinkin' the same thing myself."

After Bobby was finished stitching all Sam's wounds and had tightly bandaged his ribs, Sam set out to find Jax. He didn't have far to search, spotting the younger man's Camaro still parked outside the Thunderback Tavern. With a grimace at the thought that Jax had walked all the way back because he'd driven Sam home in the Impala, Sam headed inside the dimly lit bar.

At the entrance, he peered around the crowded room, and finding Jax sitting at the bar, he sidestepped chairs, tables and people milling around to walk over to him. Taking a seat beside Jax, Sam motioned for the bartender.

When the pretty brunette sauntered over to him, Sam ordered a beer, and with a smile she left to get it for him. In a few moments she returned with his drink, and set it down in front of him. As Sam took a slow swallow of the amber liquid, he chanced a glance in Jax's direction, and realized the man was doing his best to ignore Sam's presence.

After a long while with neither of them speaking to each other, Jax finally muttered, "What the hell are ya doin' here, Sam? Made it very clear ya didn't want me around. I left, so now can you do the same." Jax rubbed his eyes then took a long swig of his beer, setting the glass down on the counter after he'd drained the last of it. Motioning for the bartender, he tapped his glass and she headed over, took his cup and refilled it.

Sam swivelled in his seat to look at Jax, and for the first time since he'd met the man, he saw a look of utter sadness lingering on Jax's features. "Said I'd teach you how to hunt, how to save your brother, and I'm not going back on my word."

Jax cast a glance at Sam, a wry laugh escaping from his lips. "My brother's dead, Sam. Read all your damn books . . . I know what these evil sons of bitches can do now. He was dead the moment my uncle died. You know it, an' now I know it as well."

"So that's it?" Sam gave a slight nod of his head, "Just gonna give up on him. Just like that? Don't even wanna know what happened?"

"Isn't that what you want me ta do, Sam?" Cocking a brow, Jax stared long and hard at Sam, his scowl deepening as the moments ticked by. "Isn't that what you've been pushin' for ever since the moment you agreed ta train me, bustin' my ass every damn second of the day in hopes that I'd give up an' walk away. Well, guess what . . . you win." Jax lifted his glass and tilted toward Sam. "Here's ta you, Sam," he held his beer a little higher aloft, "an' here's ta Nick an' Dean the lucky ones who weren't left behind ta pick up the pieces."

"Well, if we are the ones left behind, I'd guess we'd better stick together then," Sam adamantly retorted, not about to let Jax give up now just because of him. "Cause I don't know about you, but I want someone to pay for what happened to my brother."

"Thought you said we couldn't win . . . thought you said we die tryin'?"

"Yeah, we probably will, but if you don't let that stop you, then neither will I." Sam grinned, wincing with the effort. "But before we do, we're gonna take down as many evil sons of bitches as we can along the way."

"Then here's ta dying an' kickin' ass along the way." Jax grinned, tilted his drink back toward Sam and then downed it.


	14. Chapter 14

_So, last chappy in this story...i will begin posting the second the second story in the series called The Weak and the Weary in the next few days. thanks to all for reading, hope everyone enjoyed. _

_Chapter_ _Fourteen_

"Why do you need my amulet so desperately?" Dean asked, taking several backward steps further into the room, holding Joshua more closely to him. For some reason, he understood that he had to give it willingly to Rowan, otherwise Rowan would have already have tried to take it from him. To test his theory, he asked, "Want it so badly, why don't you just try and take it from me?"

"Can't do that, Dean," Rowan replied, and with a wave of his hand he dismissed the other vampires. Reluctantly, all but Abigail and Monica left. "But I think you already know that, don't you?"

"Not giving it to you," Dean said as he set Joshua down and moved to stand in front of him.

Abigail and Monica slipped past Rowan and eased into the room. Monica ran her tongue along her fanged teeth as she eyed Dean hungrily.

"Can he be mine, Shade," Monica asked as she turned to Rowan, "he looks absolutely luscious." She tilted her head to the side as she looked Dean up and down. "Could turn him and then he'll be no more trouble to you an' I can keep him."

"Why do you get to keep him," Abigail pouted, "I saw him first. If anyone gets to keep him, it'll be me. Bet he can do all kinds of kinky things."

"How about no," Rowan firmly stated, "no one is turning him, an' he's not a sex toy for either of you."

"So totally a sex toy," Dean gave a cocky grin, "but so beside the point. Either of you fanged bitches tries to turn me or Joshua, an' your freakin' heads will hit the floor before you can even open your mouths."

"Careful, Dean, think you're sorely outnumbered," Rowan warned.

"Never was one to worry about the odds," Dean countered, brandishing his knife.

"You'll never make it out of here alive," Rowan said taking a step toward Dean, and motioning for the girls to circle around him. "Just give me the amulet and I'll let you and Joshua go."

Dean backed up, his free hand reaching around in a protective gesture to Joshua. "Pretty sure I will."

"You're willing to risk Joshua's life when you're only pretty sure?" Rowan moved further into the room, cornering Dean and Joshua, a large gilded floor mirror preventing them from moving back any further. "How about if I even out the odds for you." Rowan motioned to the two vampires closing in on Dean, and with a single nod of his head, they backed away and left the room. "If you can kill me, Dean, I can promise you, you'll never have any more problems with vampires." Rowan smirked, raising his arms out to the sides. "Notice how I don't look worried?"

The vampire's words and actions gave Dean pause to wonder what his motives might be. It almost seemed as if he wanted Dean to kill him, was bating him to do it. "You want me to kill you, don't you?"

"I'm begging you to kill me, Dean. Been waiting a long time to die."

In one quick fluid movement, Dean lunged at Rowan, knife raised to slice through the vampire's neck, but Rowan caught hold of his wrist, and with little effort forced Dean to his knees. With his other hand, he ripped the knife from Dean's hand and cast it aside. Dean's attention was momentarily diverted to where his weapon had slid under the bed, and it was all it took for Rowan to slam a powerful fist into Dean's jaw. His head snapped back with the force of the blow. White sparks danced before his eyes as another fist connected with his right cheek.

"Said I wanted to die, didn't say I would make it easy for you," Rowan chuckled as he hauled Dean to his feet, and bashed his fist into Dean's stomach. Dean flew backwards, and Joshua just managed to move out of the way as Dean rammed into the mirror. The mirror teetered for a moment then crashed to the floor, large shards of glass scattering across the floor.

Righting himself, Dean eyed Rowan as he thought how he was going to get to his knife from beneath the bed without getting himself killed in the process. "Jay, my knife," he ordered, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Joshua scurrying to get it.

Rowan and Dean circled, glass crunching beneath their feet. Catching Rowan's arm as he threw another punch, Dean twisted the vampire's hand behind him, and kicked him squarely in the back. Rowan flew forward, caught himself and swung back to face Dean.

"Can't find it, Chipmunk," Joshua called out to Dean.

"Keep looking." Dean shouted as Rowan charged at him.

Crashing into Dean, they both went falling to the ground. Glass dug into Dean's back as he tried to wrestle the vampire off of him. He grabbed Rowan by the throat, choking him as he pushed him off. Dean rolled and leapt on top of Rowan, slamming his fist into the vampire's face. Snatching a large jagged shard of glass off the floor, Dean rammed the pointed end into Rowan's throat.

Rowan let out a deep gasp, blood gurgling on his lips as Dean continued to sever through his neck. In a desperate but ineffectual effort to fight off Dean, Rowan weakly clawed at him, his arms flailing. Blood covered Dean's hands as it spilled from the gaping wound in Rowan's throat to cover the dark blue carpeting.

"Chipmunk — "

"Move, Jay," Dean commanded, hearing the little boy beside him. "An' don't look."

Rowan's head lolled grotesquely to the side, his hands falling loosely to the side as Dean cut through the last of bit of flesh, severing his head clean from his body. With one last glance at Rowan, Dean got to his feet, and looked for Joshua. He found Joshua crouched in the corner, arms wrapped around his knee with his head resting on them. The little boy held Dean's knife loosely in his hand, his fingers trembling. Dean could hear the soft sound of the boy crying, and wiping his bloodied hands on his pants, he gathered Joshua into his arms.

"Didn't mean for you to see that, Jay," he said as he took the knife from Joshua.

"He gone to Heaven with all the angels, Chipmunk?" Joshua looked up into Dean's eyes, his own brimming with tears.

Dean glanced back at Rowan, then looked once more to Joshua. "Not sure where he's gone to. Don't think Heaven though."

Slowly, Dean made his way to the door with Joshua, and then through the manor, expecting to encounter more vampires, but found none. The house was eerily quiet, never a good sign as far as Dean was concerned. At the front door, he turned and looked around again, puzzled that no one had tried to stop them from leaving. He'd dealt with vampires in the past and if one of them had died the rest became all the more vicious in their attacks, yet it was as if the house was completely empty. Dean then recalled Rowan saying that if he died, they would no longer need to worry about vampires, and momentarily wondered if that was true before shaking it off as a foolish notion.

Outside, Dean hurried to the car, placed Joshua in the passenger's seat, got in, and drove away before whatever vampires were left in the house came looking for them. Checking his rearview mirror several times, he was surprised to find that no one followed them, and breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the motel. With one last look around, Dean opened the door and slid out of the car with Joshua right behind him. Both exhausted and relieved that their encounter with Rowan was finally over, they headed inside Dean's motel room for the night.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Dean woke up early the next morning, and quickly packed his meager possessions. He then woke Joshua up, wanting to leave as soon as possible just in case Rowan's girls came looking for them.

Joshua rubbed his tired eyes, and yawned deeply as he sat up in bed.

"Still dark out, wanna go back to sleep," Joshua said in a slightly whiny voice.

"Get dressed, Jay, you can sleep in the car." Dean handed him some clothes, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and motioned toward the bathroom. "Wanna be out of here in no more than fifteen minutes so hurry up."

Joshua grumbled as he got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Within ten minutes he reemerged from the small bathroom, and handed Dean a bundle of dirty clothes, toothbrush and toothpaste.

"You brushed your teeth, right?" Dean asked.

"Too tired, I'll do it later," Joshua complained.

"You'll do it now," Dean ordered as he handed the tooth bush and paste back to him. "Not gonna have Michael say your teeth all rotted out your mouth cause of me. Now go." he pointed back to the bathroom, and Joshua reluctantly complied.

A few minutes later, Joshua came back out, and showed Dean his teeth. "All clean, Chipmunk."

"Good, now let's get outta here."

Together they headed for the door, and as they stepped outside, Dean stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth dropped open as he stared in disbelief at the man leaning against the hood of his Chevelle with arms crossed.

"Mornin', Dean," Rowan greeted him with a smirk. "Thought you might be an early riser."

"You can't be real, I killed you last night," Dean uttered, stepping in front of Joshua protectively. "Saw you die."

"Naw, you just thought you did," Rowan pushed away from the car and strode over to Dean. "Forgot to mention that I can't die, Dean. Not now . . . not ever." Rowan narrowed his green-eyed gaze on Dean for a moment, and then frowned. "Lucifer himself can not kill me, although he's tried more times than you can possibly imagine. But everyday, I wake up as if nothing ever happened. I'm gonna live forever . . . cursed to witness what I have done to humanity."

"Not possible . . . even demons can die."

"Not even the Colt can kill me, Dean. If it could, I wouldn't be here right now." Rowan drew in a deep breath and slowly released it as he looked beyond Dean to Joshua and then back again.

"Don't believe you," Dean said, recalling how the Colt had killed Azazel who was definitely more powerful than Rowan appeared to be. "Seen what the Colt can do."

"Seriously, you actually think one day some random 'hunter'," Rowan made a hanging quotes gesture with his fingers, "just showed up outside Samuel Colt's door with instructions how to create a magical demon killing gun? Hell, if it were that easy, don't you think all hunters would be carrying one of Colt's mystical magical guns around with them?" Here he paused to allow the words he'd just spoken to sink in fully before asking, "Why only one gun, Dean? Why only twelve bullets? Twelve . . . almost biblical if you think hard enough about it. Twelve bullets, twelve disciples. Only then there would really be thirteen if you included Jesus . . . or thirteen if you needed one to test that gun to see if it worked." Rowan yanked down the collar of his shirt to expose a bullet wound scar right over his heart. "See, Dean, there was only one gun because Samuel Colt didn't believe it worked. One gun because he shot me point blank in the chest and nothing happened. Course I knew it worked so I took the gun and disappeared, an' he never heard of me again."

He lifted back his raven-colored bangs, and gestured to another bullet scar at the side of his right temple. "But, I just couldn't let it go without trying one more time. Sort of like Judas, I thought maybe the first bullet had just betrayed me, and the second one would be true . . . but as you can see, no such luck. Used five more bullets to kill demons, thought there might be some sort of redemption in it for me, but found some things just can not be forgiven, no matter how much we may wish them to be."

Dean's brows furrowed in confusion, but as he looked at the pained expression on Rowan's face, an understanding dawned on him. "You really want to die, don't you?"

A short wry laugh escape Rowan's lips. "There are worse things than dying, Dean. Sometimes living is the real torture, just ask your brother. Think he would agree with me."

"Leave my brother out of this."

"Afraid I can't do that. Well, not unless you want to give me that amulet."

"Go near Sammy, an' I swear to God, I'll kill you as many times as it takes to make sure you're in hell where you belong."

"Not your enemy, Dean," Rowan said as he reached in the pocket of his black leather trench coat, and pulled out two bundles of twenty dollar bills. "The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be." He held out his hand for Dean to take the money. "Here, if I know Michael, and I think I know him pretty well, he probably left you with just the money you had in your wallet, expecting you to take care of the kid."

"Not taking your freakin' money."

"Sure you will." With a laugh, Rowan turned on his heel and strode away from Dean, placing the cash on the hood of the Chevelle. "See you around, Dean," he called back over his shoulder as he got into a sleek dark blue Audi A5 with black tinted windows, and drove away.

Dean stood there for a moment staring at the money sitting on his car, undecided. He was sure Michael would make him give it away to charity if he knew about it, and he probably did know about it. But if Dean didn't have fake credit cards, and couldn't safely hustle playing pool while Joshua was around, he needed money. So in the end, he strode over to the car and snatched it off the hood, pocketing it in his leather jacket.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Joshua was in the back seat of the Chevelle fast asleep as Dean drove around aimlessly. At first he wasn't exactly sure why he was doing it, but after a while realization struck him as he checked out every parking lot as he road along. He was searching for the Impala, was looking for Sam.

It had only been about a week since he'd made the deal to guard over Joshua, and was already beginning to regret it. His whole life had been spent protecting Sam, watching over him, and now Dean could do nothing as Lucifer and Rowan both set their sights on his little brother.

As he drove past the Thunderback Tavern the familiar sight of his black Impala came into view, and he hit the brakes so abruptly, the driver behind his car was forced to do the same, his tires screeching loudly as he blared his horn at Dean. Dean made a quick turn into the parking lot and pulled into a parking spot in the far corner where it was dark enough that he could watch for his brother without being noticed.

For the longest time he sat and watched as people strolled in and out of the bar, but not one of them was Sam. He was seriously beginning to think his brother would never actually leave the bar when the front door slammed open and three rough looking men pushed Sam to the ground outside. Instinctively, Dean's protective mode kicked in, and he flung open the door of the Chevelle and was out of the car in a shot. He abruptly stopped short, remembering if Sam saw him the deal he'd made with Michael would be broken and no matter how much he wanted to help his brother, he just couldn't without his brother having to witness his dying.

Two of the men hauled Sam to his feet, and dragged him toward the alleyway on the side of the tavern. Dean followed at a distance, and as he reached the corner of the building, he peered around it. The two men who had carted Sam back to the darkened alley, held onto him as the third taller man, slammed his fists into Sam's face, stomach and chest repeatedly.

Sam made no attempt to stop them. Every blow, every kick to the stomach, every well-placed punch, he just stood there and took it. Not once did he struggle or try to fight back, and seeing that Dean's heart clenched painfully, his stomach twisting into tight knots.

_Come on, Sammy, fight back . . . please just fight back for me. _Not able to stand the sight of his brother being severely beaten by the men any longer, Dean stepped out of the shadows.

At that moment, Sam glanced up, saw him, and softly muttered, "Dean, help me," before his head lolled to the side.

That was all Dean needed to hear for his anger to turn into blind rage. He was about to head back there and kick all their asses for hurting his brother, when an ironlike grip wrapped around his arm and yanked him back.

"Not gonna help him if your dead, Dean," Rowan hissed under his breath. "Think Michael was kidding when he said you'd die if Sam found out you were alive?"

"He's my brother, not about to let them hurt him anymore." Dean jerked free of Rowan's grasp.

"So you're gonna hurt him instead." Rowan said with a nod of understanding. "Don't you even hear the Hell Hounds? Think, Dean, you still have time to stop them from coming. Six months, it's not that long, but if you don't stop now it's all over."

Dean stood still for a moment and listened, hearing the vicious sounds of the Hell Hounds echoing in the distance, and reluctantly pulled back into the shadows. "What the hell am I supposed to do? Can't just sit here an' watch them beating the shit out of my brother. Supposed to protect him."

"No, you're job now is to protect Joshua. Sam can take care of himself."

"He's not even fightin' back, an' it's all my fault . . . I never thought . . . never even considered . . . how the hell could I have done this to him?"

"Cause you were selfish," Rowan said with a shrug, "seriously, did you really think you were bringing Sam back for himself, so he could live a full life maybe go back to school, get married maybe have some kids . . . or did you bring him back for you?" Rowan drew in a quick breath as he glanced around the corner, wincing as he saw the tall man slam his fist once more into Sam's unprotected stomach. He looked back at Dean, frowning. "Told you once before, there are worse things than dying. Guilt is one of them. An' your brother is feeling a world of guilt cause you sold your soul for him, an' so he's punishing himself the only way he knows how."

A dark colored Camaro pulled into the parking lot, and seeing the man inside of the car, Rowan grabbed onto Dean's arm, and dragged him toward the other side of the building.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dean snapped.

"You wanted your brother to have help," Rowan nudged his head in the direction of the man making his way toward the tavern. "There it is."

As Dean watched, the lean muscular man with unruly hair, headed toward the bar, stopped in his tracks and strode to the side of the building where Sam was. Dean followed, not sure of the man's intent, and glancing around the side of the building Dean saw the man first take out the older man who was beating Sam with a solid knee to the groin. A brief smile flit across Dean's features when the younger man kicked the larger man in the gut when he was already down.

"Learned that one in prison, course if I was still there, he would be dead now, instead of just holding the family jewels," the man with shaggy shoulder-length hair taunted in an attempt to intimidate the men he was fighting.

The younger man than went after the other two, fight for all he was worth in an attempt to protect Sam. One of the men grabbed him, wrapping his arms firmly around the younger fighter, but was quickly dispatched as the younger man slammed him into the wall repeatedly, forcing the older man to let go. He then yanked a gun out of his pocket.

"See, another thing I learned in prison, never fight fair, it's a sure way to die." the younger man cautiously took a back step, and gestured for the other man to move away from the wall to stand near his friend. When the taller of the two standing men took a step toward him, the younger man swung the gun to face his other adversary. "Don't think for a moment that I won't kill ya . . . killed my own Dad, and he meant more to me than you ever will."

Hearing this, the shorter of the two men who'd attacked Sam, took off running and quickly tried to pass by Dean. Dean caught him by the arm, swung him around and slammed his fist into the man's face. The man staggered with the force of the blow, and Dean followed. The man didn't stand a chance as Dean repeatedly bashed his fists into his face and stomach. Weakly, the man stumbled to the ground, and Dean grasped onto his shirt and yanked him up.

"Ever touch my brother again," Dean snarled through clenched teeth as he narrowed his deadly gaze on the man, "I will hunt you down, and I will kill you." The man struggled in a vain attempt to free himself, but Dean's grip on his shirt tightened. "But before you die, I'll make you suffer the likes of which you can't even begin to imagine. An' don't think for a moment that I won't find you or your friends. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

The man nodded weakly in response, and Dean roughly pushed him away, the man's head slamming into the pavement. The man scampered to his feet, and ran off as Dean headed back over to where Rowan was standing, and noticed the two other men on the ground, unconscious.

Rowan gestured toward them, and smiled. "Thought you could use my help."

"Didn't need your damn help," Dean growled as he resumed his spot to check on Sam.

"A simple thank you would have sufficed, but I can see how you're still in awe of how quickly I managed to kick two men's asses while you only took care of one." Rowan chuckled as he strode away from Dean, calling back, "Think we're gonna be great friends, Dean," as he disappeared into the night.

Dean peered around the corner, and saw the young man kneeling beside Sam.

"Dean," Sam mumbled forlornly as he looked up at the man. "Knew you'd never leave me behind."

Dean took a step forward, wanting to go to his brother, wanting to tell him he was alive and that everything would be okay, but knew he couldn't.

"Sam, it's . . . ." the man's voice trailed off and Dean waited, standing stock still to hear his response, needing to know who the man who saved his brother's life was."Yeah, come on, little brother, let's get ya back ta Bobby's."

The words the man spoke stole Dean's breath away, his knees nearly buckling as Sam accepted his answer without question. Desperately, he fought the urge to rush over and take is rightful place at his brother's side.

The man carefully hauled Sam to his feet, and hooked his arm around Sam's waist, shifting him to get a better hold. "Just lean on me, Sam, I gotcha."

It was Dean's job to pick Sam up, to tell him everything was going to be okay, to fix everything that was wrong . . . to make things right again. But deals didn't work that way . . . deals were made to hurt . . . to punish and inflict more pain. What Rowan had said was all too painfully true, there were worse things than dying. Sometimes living was the real torture. Seeing Sam now, Dean knew that to be the truth. And Dean now realized that the one he'd sworn to protect with his life, he'd now hurt the most by that vow.

Seeing them head in his direction, Dean rushed back to his car, got in and started the engine. Within a matter of seconds, he peeled out of the parking lot, and drove way. Not ready to leave his brother behind just yet, he did a quick u-turn and headed back.

Dean slowed as he came to the tavern and veered to the side of the road. The man he'd witnessed saving his brother was standing outside of the Impala. Dean narrowed his gaze to stare at the man for a moment. He then lowered his gaze to look at his brother in the front passenger's seat, and fear gripped his heart that Sam wasn't as strong as he'd always thought he was. How could he have been so wrong . . . how could he have just assumed Sam would be fine without him? The past year, Sam had tried in so many ways to tell him that, to show him in all that he'd done to break the deal, but Dean never understood that fully until now. His heart shattered as he realized now that Sam was just as lost without him, and what his brother was going through was solely his fault.

A single tear slipped down his cheek unchecked as he watched the man move to stand in front of the car in a protective gesture. It was exactly what he would have done if he thought someone was a threat to Sam, and despite the pain and loss he was feeling, Dean gave a small smile in understanding that someone was watching over Sam. With a quick nod of respect toward the man, Dean peeled out and drove away.

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_so, hopefully everyone enjoyed the ending of the first in my Angels and Demons series. Let me know what you thought, i really do live for reviews, and if you enjoyed it, look for The Weak and the Weary which i will begin posting in a few days!! bambers;)_


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